THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THORURN'S    JOURNAL 


MEN   AND  MANNERS 
IN  BRITAIN 


I 


OR, 


A    BONE    TO    GNAW 


TROLLOPES,  FIDLERS,  &c. 


NOTES  FROM  A  JOURNAL,  ON  SEA  AND  ON  LAND, 
IN  1833-4. 


BY 

GRANT  THORBURN,  SEEDSMAN. 


NEW-YORK: 
WILEY  &  LONG,  161  BROADWAY. 

1834. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1834,  by  GRANT 
THOHBUHN,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  Southern 
District  of  New- York. 


OIBORN  A.1U>  BUCKINGHAM    PRINTER*. 

29  Ann -street. 


PREFACE. 


WHEN  a  man  of  small  abilities,  who  has 
never  been  inside  of  a  college,  sends  forth  a 
book  into  the  world,  he  is  branded  as  an  ab- 
surd egotist,  or  a  consummate,  proud  upstart. 
Again,  if  the  world  see  a  man  grovelling 
along  without  a  spark  of  ambition  to  raise 
him  among  his  fellows,  they  say  he  is  a  mean- 
spirited  mortal,  and  ask  him — "Man,  why 
don't  you  have  more  pride?'"'  Just  such  a 
world  of  contradiction  we  live  in. 

Once  in  a  while,  when  we  see  a  coach- 
maker,  shoemaker,  pr  sailmaker,  and  some- 
times a  currier  of  jackass  hides,  set  up  for 


VI  PREFACE. 

aldermen,  assemblymen,  and  even  for  con- 
gressmen, the  world  again  says,  its  their 
pride  that  prompts  them  to  aspire  to  those 
offices  of  emolument,  honour  and  trust.  But 
the  world  don't  consider  that  the  public  will 
is  the  guide  of  these  men,  and  the  public 
good  their  aim ;  for  my  own  part,  I  think 
this  would  be  but  a  poor  world,  were  it  not 
for  pride ;  but  then  there  is  so  many  kinds  of 
pride,  that  a  body  can  hardly  tell  which  to 
choose :  there  is,  for  instance,  an  honest 
pride,  an  honourable  pride,  a  family  pride,  a 
dandy's  pride,  and  a  develish  pride;  and 
there  is  yet  another  pride,  lately  got  up 
amongst  us,  which,  in  my  opinion,  is  worse 
than  any  of  the  others,  not  even  excepting 
the  last — this  is  the  lawyer's  pride,  and  the 

•  .  • 

pride  of  the  bar.  By-the-by  it  would  be  well 
if  these  gentlemen  of  the  gown  and  wig  would 
define  what  they  mean  by  the  bar.  If  this 
thing  had  been  properly  understood,  it  might 


PREFACE.  Vll 

have  prevented  the  following  awkward  catas- 
trophy. 

On  a  late  occasion,  when  a  meeting  was 
advertised  for  the  gentlemen  of  the  bar  to 
meet  at  the  hall,  it  was  rather  ludicrous  to 
see  these  sons  of  the  law  met  together,  and 
another  set  of  bar-keepers  also  come  among 
them.  There  were  the  bar-keepers  of  the 
Columbian  and  Hibernian,  the  United,  the 
Independent,  and  the  Jackson  Hotels — all 
very  decent  men  no  doubt ;  indeed  I  saw  very 
little  difference  between  the  gentlemen, 
only  that  the  men  who  bar  out  justice 
wore  black  coats,  and  the  men  who  bar  in 
whiskey  wore  coats  of  many  colors.  I  thought 
it  no  wonder  that  these  illiterate  men  mis- 
took the  meaning  of  the  advertisement,  as 
most  assuredly  they  were  all  gentlemen  of 
the  bar. 

But  to  return  to  the  pride  of  the  law ;  it  is 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

an  innovation  coming  in  like  a  flood,  and  it 
threatens  to  overturn  all  the  decencies  of  life, 
or,  perhaps,  I  ought  rather  to  say,  of  death. 
The  thing  is  this :  of  late  years  it  has  be- 
come the  practice  of  these  brethren  of  the 
brief,  that  whenever  any  of  their  number  de- 
parts from  this  life,  you  may  see  one  of  them 
hurrying  into  court,  his  eyes  swelling  with 
importance,  squeezing  up  to  the  bench,  whis- 
pering something  in  the  ear  of  the: judge; 
the  judge  rises,  rolling  his  eyes  on  the  ceiling, 
his  face  as  long  as  a  pelican  in  the  wilder- 
ness. He  lets  the  woful  tidings  drop,  viz.  that 
our  worthy  brother  Caption  has  just  taken 
leave  of  the  world,  and  therefore,  that  you 
may  have  time  to  shed  crocodile  tears,  the 
court  stands  adjourned  to  Monday  next,  at 
11  of  the  clock;  this  was  on  Friday.  The 
Revised  Statutes  do  not  empower  the  judge 
to  stop  the  wheels  of  justice,  and  pocket  two 
days  salary  of  the  people's  money  on  any  such 
occasion.  Next  day  a  meeting  is  held,  reso- 


PREFACE.  IX 

lutions  made,  crape  on  the  arm  for  thirty  days, 
&/c.  Now  what  is  this  but  pride?  What 
right  has  any  class  in  society  to  exalt  them- 
selves by  themselves?  What  do  they  more 
than  others  ?  Is  not  a  respectable  merchant, 
a  carpenter,  a  printer,  or  brick-layer,  just  as 
useful  in  his  place  as  any  lawyer  ?  Now, 
suppose  the  merchants  in  Pearl-street,  or 
suppose  the  master-builders  were  to  shut  their 
shops  for  two  days ;  and  suppose  they  were  to 
to  hold  meetings  in  the  Park,  and  wear  crape 
for  thirty  days  whenever  one  of  the  fraternity 
died — why  our  streets  would  be  filled  with  a 
set  of  idle  vagabonds,  our  stores  as  dark  as 
midnight,  and  the  city  clothed  in  sackloth  and 
ashes ;  and  yet  these  men  have  a  better  right 
to  shut  their  stores,  and  close  their  shops,  than 
the  judge  has  to  stop  the  sale  of  justice  for  two 
days. 

Besides,  is  not  this  intended  to  establish  a 
dangerous  precedent,   a  sort  of  law,  full  of 


X  PREFACE. 

aristocracy?  Thinking,  perhaps,  that  they 
receive  not  honour  enough  from  men  in  this 
life,  it  may  be  they  intend  to  try  the  experi- 
ment whether  or  not  they  cannot  introduce 
some  old,  obsolete,  heathenish  custom  of 
paying  honours  to  the  dead,  and  thereby 
we  will  have  all  the  lawyer's  deified.  This 
would  surely  be  something  new  in  the  other 
world,  and  in  this  also.  When  a  lawyer  dies, 
what  more  have  we  to  do  with  him,  or  for 
him,  than  for  any  other  member  of  the  com- 
munity who  makes  his  money  by  his  hands  or 
his  wits  ?  If  a  lawyer  has  a  head  and  a 
tongue,  and  knows  how  to  make  use  of  them, 
he  has  his  reward  in  this  world,  and  when  he 
dies  society  owes  him  nothing — no  more  than 
they  do  to  a  master-builder,  who,  having 
finished  the  house,  receives  his  money,  and 
then  departs  this  life.  But  this  subject  is  so 
prolific,  and  so  full  of  bad  precedent  and  bad 
practice,  that  I  hardly  know  where  to  leave 
off.  But  enough,  I  think,  has  been  said,  to 


PREFACE.  XI 

convince  every  man  in  New- York,  that  it  is 
high  time  they  should  set  their  faces  against 
this  piece  of  self-created  pride. 

But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
book,  and  perhaps  the  least  said  on  that  sub- 
ject will  be  the  soonest  mended.  If  the  story 
is  a  good  one,  it  will  sell ;  if  not,  those  who 
don't  like  it,  can  just  let  it  alone. 

THE  AUTHOR. 

Hallefs  Cove,  5th  Dec.,  1834. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Journal  from  New-York  to  Liverpool — Reflections  on 
leaning  Land — Seamen1  s  character — a  Passenger 
from  ship  General  Williams — a  Funeral  at  Sea. 

Oct.  9,  1833— Ship  George  Washington,  at  12  P. 
M.,  with  a  strong  northwester  and  an  unclouded 
sky,  we  took  our  departure  from  the  Hook,  the  light- 
house due  west  three  miles ;  shortly  after  we  lost 
sight  of  land.  I  have  more  than  once  known  what  it 
is  to  take  the  last  look  of  the  land  which  contained  all 
I  held  dear.  It  is  at  times  such  as  this  that  the  ima- 
gination delights  to  be  busy,  and  at  which  she  often 
plays  the  tyrant  over  the  affections,  by  throwing  the 
charms  of  a  double  fascination  around  the  objects  and 
scenes  from  which  we  are  torn,  as  with  rapid  pencil 
she  sketches  in  vivid  colouring  all  I  have  left  behind. 
I  keenly  feel  the  reality  of  my  departure,  and  am 
almost  ready  to  wonder  that  I  could  voluntarily  have 
undertaken,  at  such  a  sacrifice,  a  voyage,  attended 
with  much  uncertainty,  and  necessarily  involving  many 
a  hazard;  but  in  my  better  judgment  I  cannot  and  do 
not  regret  it.  I  think  the  duty  has  been  pointed  out 
plainly  by  the  dispensations  of  Him  who  directs  alike 

2 


14  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

the  destinies  of  angels  and  of  men,  not  to  be  followed 
with  unshaken  confidence  and  good  cheer, — a  firm 
belief  in  a  particular  providence,  in  that  governance  of 
the  world  which  regulates,  not  only  the  larger  affairs 
of  men  and  of  nations,  but  which  extends  to  the  minu- 
test concerns  of  the  creatures  of  God,  till,  without  him, 
not  even  a  sparrow  falleth  to  the  ground,  next  to  those 
truths  which  assure  us  of  the  remission  of  sin  through 
the  shedding  of  blood,  and  which  brings  the  life  and 
immortality  of  the  gospel  to  light.  The  Bible  unfolds,  (in 
my  opinion,)  not  another  doctrine  more  precious,  or 
more  consoling  than  this.  I  delight  to  believe,  also, 
that  special  paths  of  duty  are  often  made  so  plain,  that 
there  can  scarcely  be  a  mistake  in  entering  upon  and 
pursuing  them. 

This  belief,  with  the  persuasion  that  my  present 
situation  is  one  of  duty,  keeps  my  mind  in  perfect 
peace,  and  even  emboldens  me  to  appreciate  to  myself 
the  assurance,  "  Behold  I  am  with  thee,  and  will 
keep  thee  in  all  places  whither  thou  goest,  and  will 
bring  thee  again  into  this  land,  for  I  will  never  leave 
thee,  nor  forsake  thee." 

Another  cause  of  quietude  springs  from  the  declara- 
tion, (which  I  also  firmly  believe,)  that  the  effectual 
fervent  prayer  of  the  righteous  man  availeth  much.  I 
know  I  have  many  such  friends  by  whom  I  am  not 
forgotten.  What  a  glorious  religion  is  that  which 
the  Christian  possesses  ?  How  unsearchable  a*e  its 
riches  of  wisdom  and  grace.  A  religion  rescuing  us 
not  only  from  the  guilt  and  condemnation  of  sin, 
cheering  us  with  hope,  and  fitting  us  for  immortality, 
but  guiding  and  guarding  us  also  in  all  our  ways. 
If  the  religion  of  the  cross  be  a  cunningly  de- 
vised fable,  as  some  would  persuade  us  to  believe, 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  16 

O,  how  wise  the  intellect  that  devised  it !  If  all  its  pro- 
mises and  its  hopes,  its  fears  and  its  joys,  its  impres- 
sions and  its  prayers,  are  but  a  dream,  its  a  dream  of 
enchantment  from  which  I  would  wish  most  devoutly 
never  to  awake  ;  and  of  which,  to  all  who  sleep,  I  would 
most  earnestly  say,  "  Sleep,  O  sleep  on  !" 

To  return; — when  we  passed  the  light-house  the  ships 
Charlemagne  for  Havre,  and  General  Williams  for 
Liverpool,  were  nearly  three  miles  a  head — before  dark 
we  lost  sight  of  them  astern.  The  Atlantic  was  rough  and 
boisterous  as  is  usual  at  this  season  of  the  year,  with  wind 
constantly  fair  for  five  days.  We  were  so  heavily  rocked, 
occasioned  by  the  rolling  of  the  vessel  and  the  wind  be- 
ing astern,  it  seemed  as  if  our  very  heads  would  have 
dropped  from  our  shoulders.  Next  day  the  wind  came  on 
our  quarter,  when,  we  went  along  as  smooth  as  on  a 
rail-road. 

At  night  the  scene  was  peculiarly  fine  ;  a  full  orbed 
moon,  brushed  by  cold  and  wintry  looking  clouds  above ; 
a  troubled  and  roaring  sea  below  ;  our  ship  careering 
through  and  upon  the  heaving  billows,  dashing  beds  of 
foam  far  around,  and  leaving  a  broad  wake  behind  as 
she  sank  and  rose  with  the  swelling  of  the  sea,  and  then 
plunged  again  furipusly  on  her  mighty  way  ;  the  bright 
moon-beams  gleaming  on  the  studding  sails  as  they 
kissed  the  waves  with  every  roll  of  the  ship,  while  the 
naked  spars  above,  in  the  deep  plunge  of  the  vessel, 
swept  wildly  and  swiftlyin  clearly  defined  lines  against 
the  sky — all  combined  in  forming  a  glorious  sight  for 
the  eye  of  an  enthusiast,  and  one  from  which  I  could 
scarce  tear  myself  for  the  oblivion  of  sleep.  Often, 
when  all  were  locked  in  slumber,  the  watch  on  deck  and 
myself  only  excepted,  have  I  walked  and  sat  watching 
the  frantic  gambols  of  the  northern  lights,  the  move- 


16  THORBVRN'S  JOURNAL. 

ments  of  the  stars,  and  the  sighing  of  the  waves,  till 
morning  streaked  the  eastern  sky  with  gold.  In  five 
times  crossing  the  Atlantic,  I  have  seen  something  of 
the  seaman's  character.  When  sleep  forsook  my  eyes, 
I  used  to  go  on  deck  to  while  away  the  time  and  improve 
my  mind  in  conversing  with  the  hands  on  watch.  Many 
of  them  have  I  found  to  possess  strong,  but  very  few 
cultivated  minds.  When  we  witness  their  patient  endu- 
rance of  danger,  cold,  fatigue  and  discomfort,  and  the 
willing  alacrity  with  which  they  perform  their  arduous 
duties,  we  wish  they  were  better  paid  ;  but  then  money 
is  of  no  service  to  them  :  they  are  not  inhabitants  of  the 
earth — sea  is  their  element.  They  know  as  little  how  to 
spend  a  dollar  to  advantage,  as  the  child  of  three  years, 
when  he  empties  his  little  holiday  purse  (with  the 
most  willing  anxiety)  of  the  last  ninty-ninth  cent,  to 
pay  for  a  gilded  toy  not  worth  six.  As  they  are  the  most 
useful  class,  and  as  society  cannot  exist  in  any  thing 
like  comfort  without  them,  it  therefore  is  the  duty  of 
society  to  provide  for  them  a  comfortable  retreat  in  old 
age,  and  especially  as  very  few  of  them  survive  to  that 
period.  In  London  they  have  schools  for  their  chil- 
dren, and  houses  where  their  widows  and  orphans  are 
comfortably  fed,  taught  aflti  clothed.  The  Greenwich 
Hospital  is  a  monument  of  British  gratitude  and  hu- 
manity. 

To  return  from  this  digression  ; — as  our  ship  was 
passing  the  light-house  at  Sandy  Hook,  a  boat  put 
on  board  of  us  a  gentleman  from  Bermuda.  He  had  en- 
gaged his  passage  in  the  ship  General  Williams,  came 
too  late,  and  was  left.  He  felt  very  uncomfortable,  as  his 
baggage  was  on  board  of  the  G.  W.,  and  he  had  not  a 
change  of  clothing. 

10th.  Wind  northeast,  nearly  becalmed,  the  ship  G. 
W.  about  five  miles  astern.  At  10  A.  M.  launched  the 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  17 

boat  with  four  hands  and  the  mate,  when  they  rowed 
said  passenger  to  his  ship. 

llth,  12th,  13th,  14th  and  15th— nothing  remarkable 
occurred.  Wind  fair  and  every  thing  comfortable  ;  sea* 
sickness,  and  many  casting  up  their  accounts  of  course. 

Oct.  16th — A  Funeral  at  Sea. — One  of  our  steerage 
passengers  died  last  night,  about  9  o'clock,  after  being 
six  days  out.  He  was  brought  on  board  almost  in  the 
last  gasp  of  consumption.  He  hoped  his  bones  would 
moulder  in  his  native  soil  (Ireland) ;  but  his  grave  is  in 
the  deep.  None  of  our  cabin  passengers  knew  of  his 
situation  till  some  hours  after  his  death.  We  have  on 

board  the  Rev.  Mr.  B ,  an  Episcopal  Minister  from 

England.  He  was  in  bed  and  knew  not  that  there  was 
a  corpse  on  board  till  I  informed  him  in  the  morning. 
He  seemed  awfully  struck  when  I  asked  if  he  had  his 
prayer-book  and  canonicals  in  order,  as  there  was  to  be 
a  funeral  at  9  A.  M. — He  mustered  the  materials,  and 
finding  all  in  order,  said  he  would  perform  the  last  of* 
fice  for  the  dead,  while  I  was  to  do  my  best  as  clerk 
pro  tern.,  as  he  said  he  understood  I  had  been  clerk  in 
a  church  in  New-York  for  some  years.  I  informed  the 
captain  of  the  arrangement,  and  requested  that  he  would 
order  every  thing  to  be  conducted  with  decent  order 
and  propriety.  After  receiving  my  short  lesson,  we 
repaired  on  deck.  The  scene  was  novel,  solemn,  and 
imposing.  The  morning  was  fine  ;  the  sun  shone  bright 
and  mild ;  a  gentle  breeze  was  humming  through  our 
sails,  just  enough  to  steady  the  vessel ;  hundreds  of  sea- 
gulls were  sporting  in  the  sun-beams,  and  dipping  their 
snow-white  wings  in  the  transparent  element  beneath. 
Ever  and  anon  as  they  crossed  our  path,  followed  in  our 
wake,  and  skimmed  our  stately  ship,  they  looked  and 
2* 


18  THORBITRN'S  JOURNAL. 

they  screamed,  and  they  screamed  and  they  looked,  as 
if  anxious  to  know  the  meaning  of  this  dance  of  death. 
Our  crew  and  our  passengers,  eighty-five  in  number, 
were  all  on  deck,  uncovered — all  watching,  with  intense 
interest,  the  order  and  systematic  preparations  of  the 
seamen.  The  body  was  tightly  stitched  up  in  a  white 
sheet,  (not  a  spot  of  skin  appearing,)  then  fastened  to  a 
plank,  and  a  heavy  stone  appended  to  the  feet.  The  end 
of  the  plank,  with  the  feet  towards  the  sea,  was  now 
placed  on  the  bulwarks  about  midships.  The  end 
where  the  head  rested,  was  supported  by  the  carpenter 
and  his  mate.  All  things  being  ready,  the  captain  on 
the  right,  and  I  on  the  left  of  the  minister,  the  beautiful 
service  for  the  dead  commenced — "  I  am  the  Resurrec- 
tion and  the  Life,"  &c.r  in  the  full-toned,  solemn,  and 
clear  accent  of  a  regular  bred  Yorkshire  parson.  The 
various  and  intense  feelings  depicted  in  the  faces  of  the 
motley  group,  as  they  eyed  the  cloth  that  hid  the  life- 
less clay  ;  the  wild  screams  of  the  milk-white  sea-fowl, 
descending  and  ascending  in  quick  succession,  forced  on 
the  mind  the  thought  of  guardian  angels,  ready  to 
convey  some  ransomed  soul  to  worlds  of  light.  We 
were  1400  miles  from  land,  suspended,  as  it  were,  be- 
tween heaven  and  the  great  deep,  and  only  a  four  inch 
plank  between  us  and  the  gates  of  heaven  or  hell. 
When  the  minister  came  to  the  words,  we  "  commit  the 
body  to  the  deep,"  I  sung  out,  "launch  the  corpse." — 
In  a  moment  it  was  sinking  in  the  mighty  waters. — 
"  Lord,  what  is  man  /"  exclaimed  each  thinking  soul. 
We  seemed  pausing  alone  on  the  brink  of  eternity  ;  but 
the  eye  of  Omnipotence  was  there.  In  the  clear  waters 
of  the  Atlantic  we  could  see  the  white  object  sink,  per- 
haps some  hundred  feet.  I  stood  on  the  stern  and 
watched  its  descent.  The  buoyancy  of  the  plank,  with  the 
stone  at  the  feet,  kept  the  body  erect.  It  looked  to  my 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  19 

mind  like  a  mortal  of  earth,  descending  the  narrow  steps 
of  time,  down  to  the  broad  confines  of  eternal  space.  In 
a  few  moments'  more  the  rags  of  the  flesh,  with  the 
strips  of  the  winding-sheet,  were  lodged  in  monsters' 
jaws. 

It  was  a  very  impressive  scene,  and  seemed  to  strike 
all  present,  with  a  sense  of  their  dependance  on  Him 
who  holds  the  wind  in  his  fist  and  the  waters  in  the 
hollow  of  his  hand. 

To  commit  a  body  to  the  earth,  seems  like  cancelling 
a  debt  of  nature  ;  but  though  the  flesh  be  as  cold  as  the 
marble  of  Siberia,  there  is  something  revolting  to  the 
feelings  when  a  human  carcass  is  sunk  in  the  cold 
green  sea.  But  this  sea  must  give  up  the  dead  that  are 
in  her. 

If  you  have  a  friend  in  the  world  whom  you  wish  bet- 
ter than  another,  if  he  wants  to  see  Liverpool,  tell  him 
to  wait  for  the  George  Washington,  Captain  Holdredgc 
and  crew.  We  are  now  nine  days  out,  and  have  riot 
heard  an  oath  from  either  man  or  officer — sometimes 
making  fourteen  knots  for  twelve  hours  on  a  stretch — 
the  waves  as  high  as  Snake-Hill  in  Jersey,  and  neither 
sigh  nor  groan  has  yet  escaped  its  timbers.  Her  vast 
sheets  of  canvass  spread  to  the  sun  and  swelling  in  the 
breeze,  appear  like  ripe  fields  of  wheat  on  Hallet's  Cove? 
and  yet  they  are  mowed  as  by  a  spring,  from  the  tinkle 
of  a  bell,  by  the  sturdy  arms  of  our  willing  crew.  No 
noise,  no  shouting,  no  confusion — all  moves  on  as  if 
impelled  by  him  who  is  the  God  of  order.  At  8  A.  M., 
12,  4  and  8  P.  M.  our  table  is  filled  with  77107-6  than 
heart  can  wish.  Clinton  Lunch,  or  Congress  Hall,  can 
boast  no  better  cooks.  Every  morning  we  have  fresh 
milk  from  the  cow,  without  the  contamination  of  blue- 
skin  water  from  the  race  grounds  of  Long-Island.  We 


20  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

have  men  of  mind  and  science  from  the  four  quarters  of 
the  globe  in  our  cabin,  each  promoting  the  pleasure  of 
his  neighbour. 

Our  esteemed  townsman,  Samuel  F.  Mott,  and  inte- 
resting family,  are  a  genuine  acquisition  to  our  party.  Al- 
ready has  the  health  of  his  lady  much  improved.  Our 
book-case  and  books,  our  beds,  comforts,  luxuries  and 
attendants,  are  such  as  maybe  expected  (only)  from  the 
New-York  packets. 

Nothing  worthy  of  notice  occurred  for  the  remaining 
eleven  days  of  our  voyage,  when  we  arrived  at  Liver- 
pool, all  well,  having  been  only  twenty  days  at  sea. — - 
At  the  examination  of  our  baggage  in  the  custom- 
house, we  were  treated  with  marked  attention  and 
politeness  ;  indeed  to  be  an  American,  or  a  resident  in 
America,  seems  a  passport  to  kind  regard  and  attention 
everywhere. 

In  the  streets  of  Liverpool  to-day,  (2d  Nov.,)  I  saw 
two  well-dressed  women,  having  an  organ  fastened  on  a 
small  four-wheeled  waggon.  They  were  dragging  it 
through  one  of  the  principal  streets — at  every  corner  they 
would  stop,  and  one  would  sing  while  the  other  played 
the  organ— passengers  would  throw  them  a  few  cents.  I 
wondered  that  the  magistrates,  who  had  mothers,  wives 
and  daughters,  would  allow  so  public  a  degradation  of 
the  sex.  I  wished  I  had  Mrs.  Trollope  by  the  ear  at 
that  moment. 

In  the  hotels,  besides  paying  your  bill  at  the  bar,  you 
are  called  on  by — sir,  remember  the  waiter, — sir,  remem- 
ber the  chambermaid ;  and  also  by  a  slovenly  looking  fel- 
low whom  they  call  boots.  In  the  stage,  perhaps  you  are 
drove  from  London  to  Coventry,  or  any  other  direction, 
to  a  distance  of  fifty  miles.  There  you  change  the  driver 
and  guard,  when  you  are  again  subjected  to  the  same 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  21 

beggarly  impositions — sir,  I  have  drove  from  London — 
sir,  I  have  guarded  you  from  London.  You  may  give 
as  much  as  you  please,  but  not  less  than  one  shilling  to 
each.  In  fifty  "miles  more  the  same  beggarly  farce  is 
acted  over  again.  Between  London  and  Liverpool, 
200  miles,  I  paid  twelve  shillings  sterling  to  guards 
and  drivers,  besides  three  sovereigns  stage  fare.  Indeed 
I  could  travel  200  miles  in  America,  just  for  the  money 
I  paid  to  guards  and  coach  drivers  in  going  from  Lon- 
don to  Liverpool;  and  you  can't  get  clear  of  this  impo- 
sition. To  be  sure  you  are  not  compelled  by  civil  law, 
but  if  you  don't  submit  to  this  law  of  the  road,  ten  to  one 
but  your  trunk  would  disappear  before  you  where  half 
through  your  journey.  They  will  swell,  puff  and  blow 
about  their  English  pride,  their  independent  spirits, 
and  all  such  blustering  stuff,  but  in  all  and  every  thing 
connected  with  travelling  concerns,  it  is  a  complete  sys- 
tem of  organized  beggary,  from  the  contractor  down  to 
the  lowest  boot  cleaner.  Old  Boniface  himself  comes 
out  to  be  sure  ;  his  face  as  red  as  a  northwest  moon, 
corporation  like  a  ten  gallon  keg,  white  apron,  shoes, 
buckles  and  stockings,  bowing  and  cringing  like  one 
of  his  well-whipped  spaniels,  but  most  roundly  does  he 
make  you  pay  for  all  this  servility ;  and  when  you  are 
going  to  leave  his  inhospitable  roof,  he  sends  after  you 
a  host  of  privileged  beggars;  and  after  you  are 
seated  in  the  coach,  the  windows  on  each  side  are  beset 
with — sir,  I  lashed  your  trunk — mam  I  brought  out 
your  bandbox,  &c.  I  was  informed  by  several  gentle- 
men, that  the  servants  in  hotels  and  drivers  on  the 
road  had  no  other  compensation  for  their  services, 
only  what  they  could  in  this  way  extort  from  customers. 
This  may  all  be  very  well,  if  they  are  willing  to  have 
their  servants  a  committee  of  beggars  and  extortioners, 


22  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

instead  of  men  who  make  conscience  of  doing  their  duty, 
knowing  that  they  will  receive  an  honourable  compensa- 
tion for  their  services.  I  say  this  may  all  be  very  well 
if  the  majority  are  pleased  to  have  it  so  ;  but  why  hold 
themselves  up  as  paragons  of  wisdom  and  models  of 
fashion  to  the  world?  Why  send  forth  their  Fiddlers 
and  Trollopes,  talking  about  men  and  manners  in 
America,  when  they  themselves  have  yet  to  learn  what 
it  is  to  practice  the  first  rudiments  of  common  sense? 
Fiddler  could  travel  from  Maine  to  Georgia,  and  not 
meet  a  beggar  in  a  hotel,  or  seated  on  a  stage  box. 

This  custom  of  theirs  is  a  great  annoyance  to  stran- 
gers; for  in  addition  to  all  your  other  cares  on  the  road, 
you  have  to  carry  a  pocket  full  of  change.  Better  would 
it  be  to  put  every  charge  in  the  bill,  and  make  you  pay 
at  the  bar. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  visit  to  the  Tower. 

I  HAVE  been  twenty-four  days  in  London.  To  the 
man  who  has  time  to  spare,  and  money  to  spend,  it  is 
worth  all  the  pains  to  walk  one  day  each  in  St.  Paul's, 
Westminster  Abbey,  and  the  tower.  In  the  former  you 
read  the  monuments,  and  tread  over  the  bones  and  dust 
of  all  that  were  once  great,  and  many  that  were  good, 
for  the  past  thousand  years — kings,  warriors,  benefac- 
tors and  destroyers  of  men,  eloquent  divines  and  ac- 
complished females,  profound  statesmen,  historians  and 
poets — all  tumbled  in  one  promiscuous  heap  of  death. 
In  the  poet's  corner  you  tread  over  the  dust  of  Dryden, 
Pope,  and  scores  of  others,  who  in  their  day  shook  the 
sides  of  laughter-looking  faces  ;  but  now,  there  they 
lie  themselves — O,  how  mute  !  In  the  tower,  within 
whose  blackened  walls  for  nearly  twenty  centuries, 
alternately,  was  heard  the  music  and  the  dance,  the 
sound  of  laughter  and  revelry,  with  the  screams  of  the 
tortured,  and  the  groans  of  the  murdered.  Over  floors 
stained,  and  along  walls  besprinkled  with  the  blood  of 
the  beauties  of  that  day,  you  now  walk  with  the  wardens 
in  the  same  costume  which  they  wore  in  the  days  of 
Henry  VIII. 

To  describe  my  feelings,  or  what  I  saw,  is  im- 
possible ;  but  while  I  held  in  my  hand  the  axe 
which  severed  the  heads  of  the  beautiful  Ann  Bolyn, 
Lady  Jane  Grey,  and  Mary  of  Scotland,  I  felt  proud 


24  THORBURN'H  JOURNAL. 

that  the  annals  of  my  adopted  country  was  not  stained 
by  deeds  so  barbarous  and  unmanly.  Says  I  to  the 
warden,  "  your  Fiddlers  and  Trollopes  talk  of  refine- 
ment— the  standard  of  refinement  is  estimated  in  all 
countries  by  the  respect  in  which  their  women  are  held. 
Now,  sir,  were  they  to  attempt  in  America  to  cut  off 
the  head  of  a  beautiful  woman,  every  rifle,  from  Maine 
to  Georgia,  would  be  raised  in  her  defence."  He  smiled 
at  my  remark.  He  soon  observed  that,  from  my  tongue, 
he  should  take  me  for  a  Scotchman.  I  said  I  thought 
the  same  of  him — it  was  the  case ;  and  being  countrymen, 
he  conducted  me  around,  and  described  every  thing 
with  great  attention. 

I  saw  in  London  women,  dressed  neat  and  clean, 
trundelling  wheelbarrows  in  the  middle  of  the  streets, 
seemingly  carrying  home  or  taking  clothes  to  be 
washed.  In  the  markets  of  London  and  Liverpool 
are  thousands  of  women,  who  make  their  living  by 
carrying  home  the  meat  and  vegetables.  They  have 
round  baskets  which  they  place  on  their  heads.  I  have 
met  delicate,  good  looking  females,  trembling  under  the 
loads  they  carried.  You  may  see  them  in  groups  and 
rows,  their  baskets  in  hand.  As  you  pass  along  the 
market,  you  are  interrogated  at  every  step,  with  "sir,  do 
you  want  a  basket?" — "Please,  sir,  to  take  a  basket," 
&c. 

It  don't  seem  to  be  the  custom  in  London  to  take  a 
servant  with  them  to  market. 

I  also  saw  a  woman  on  the  highway  breaking  stones 
to  Macadamize  the  road.  On  another  occasion  I  saw  a 
woman  having  a  young  child  buckled  on  her  back.  She 
was  driving  a  one  horse  cart  laden  with  coals,  going 
up  a  steep  part  of  the  road,  and  the  load  being  rather 
heavy  for  the  horse,  she  took  hold  of  the  wheel  and 


THORBURN'S  JOURXAL.  25 

helped  it  to  roll  along  till  she  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill. 
1  thought  this  was  most  emphatically  clapping  the 
shoulder  to  the  wheel.  I  thought  if  Mrs.  Trollope  and 
Fiddler  had  seen  such  things  in  America,  what  a  fine 
subject  it  would  have  been  for  them  to  make  a  book.  I 
attended  service  in  many  Chapels,  Churches,  Cathedrals 
and  Abbeys,  in  Westminster  Abbey  and  St.  Paul's  Ca- 
thedral, (the  resort  of  fashion.)  In  the  former  I  heard 
the  Lord  Bishop  of  Gloucester  read  prayers.  I  thought 
(at  the  time)  that  our  own  Bishop  Onderdonk  reads 
better.  I  there  saw  old  and  young  men  sitting  a~t  the 
head  of  the  pews,  when  the  ladies  were  sitting  next  to 
the  door. 

I  saw  a  black  whiskered  dandy,  apparently  about 
twenty-seven  ;  he  was  sitting  alone,  just  inside  of  the 
pew  door.  A  genteel  young  lady  came  to  the  pew  ; 
but,  instead  of  opening  the  door  and  giving  her  the 
place  which  common  decency  and  common  sense  as- 
signed as  her's,  he  shoved  his  own  ugly  carcass  ahead, 
and  let  her  sit  next  to  the  door.  I  saw  young  men  sitting, 
and  respectable-looking  females  standing — some  of 
them  old  enough  to  be  their  mothers  or  grand-mothers, 
and  some  of  them  young  enough  to  have  been  their 
sisters.  Perhaps  it  were  hardly  worth  noticing  these 
things,  were  it  not  that  the  Halls,  Trollopes,  &c.,  have 
the  modesty  to  tax  the  Americans  with  want  of  refine- 
ment !  Now,  as  far  as  I  can  observe,  if  the  remark  be 
true,  that  respect  paid  to  the  women  is  the  true  standard 
of  refinement,  I  think  America  is  at  least  half  a  century 
ahead  of  these  London  folks.  In  short,  many,  very 
many,  of  the  laborious  and  menial  offices  are  here  per- 
formed by  women. 

With  regard  to  manners,  you  will  here  receive  the 
very  essence  of  hospitality  and  kind  attention  ;  to  be 

3 


26  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

sure,  you  will  see  the  heighth  of  splendour  and  affluence 
contrasted  with  the  most  abject  poverty;  but  here,  as 
well  as  almost  every  where  else,  excess  in  drinking  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  this  evil.  Every  where  there  is  the 
greatest  appearance  of  plenty.  I  met  in  company,  the 
other  day,  a  real  John  Bull;  he  sat  puffing  and  blowing 
with  corpulence.  His  very  eyes  stood  out  with  fatness, 
as  if  ready  to  start  from  their  sockets  ;  in  short,  he  was 
a  real  Falstaff.  There  he  sat  grumbling  about  taxes, 
tithes,  poor  rates,  &c.  We  had  picked  an  acquaintance 
and  could  make  free.  Says  I,  my  friend,  you  look,  at 
any  rate,  as  if  you  got  your  allowance.  He  and  his 
friends  had  a  hearty  laugh,  which  ended  the  political 
lecture. 

The  quantities  of  meat  in  the  markets  of  London 
are  almost  frightful  to  look  at;  besides,  in  every  street, 
they  have  large  butchers'  shops,  which,  from  3  till 
11  o'clock  P.  M,,  are  most  brilliantly  lighted  up 
with  gas ;  and,  as  they  have  a  peculiarly  neat  way  of 
cutting  up  their  meat,  their  shops  show  to  fine  advan- 
tage. Their  hundreds  of  benevolent  institutions  for 

o 

the  maimed,  the  sick,  the  halt,  and  the  blind ;  their 
multitudes  of  princely  buildings,  where  tens  of  thou- 
sands of  poor  children  are  fed,  clothed,  and  instructed  ; 
their  hospitals  and  churches ;  their  soldiers'  and 
sailors'  retreats,  &c.,  form,  altogether,  such  a  mass 
of  good,  as  makes  the  heart  exclaim,  "  such  only  are 
thy  fruits,  O  Christianity !"  and  imparts  to  the  mind 
something  like  a  confidence,  that  a  country  where 
so  much  good  "will  is  shown  to  man,  will  stand  against 
all  the  assaults  of  external  and  internal  foes,  till  the 
day  arrives  when  her  palaces  and  hospitals,  with  the 
globe  itself,  shall  shiver  in  the  blaze. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  27 

It  is  both  amusing  and  interesting  to  see  the  chil- 
dren of  the  various  charitable  institutions  dressed  in 
the  costume  of  the  day,  which  bears  the  date  of 
the  founding  of  them  some,  seven  hundred  years  ago. 


CHAPTER  III. 

London — its  Charitable  Institutions — Police — Barber 
Shops,  fyc. 

I  SAW  nothing  in  London  that  pleased  me  so  much 
as  their  charitable  benevolent  institutions.  London 
contains  43  free  schools,  with  perpetual  endowments 
for  educating  ar\d  maintaining  nearly  4,000  children  ; 
17  other  schools  for  poor  and  deserted  children ; 
237  parish  schools,  supported  by  voluntary  contribu- 
tions, &c.,  in  which  about  10  or  12,000  boys  and  girls 
are  constantly  clothed  and  educated;  3  colleges;  22 
hospitals  for  sick,  lame,  and  indigent  women  ;  107  alms- 
houses  for  the  maintenance  of  aged  persons  of  both 
aexes  ;  18  institutions  for  the  support  of  the  poor  of 
various  descriptions,  and  about  30  dispensaries  for  the 
gratuitous  supply  of  medicine  and  medical  aid  to  the 
helpless  in  all  cases.  Besides  these  various  establish- 
ments, each  parish  has  a  work-house  for  the  occupa- 
tion and  maintenance  of  its  own  distressed  or  helpless 
poor ;  and  the  several  Trades  Companies  of  the  City 
of  London  distribute  about  75,000  pounds  sterling, 
nearly  $375,000,  annually  in  charities.  The  sums  ex- 
pended among  the  other  public  charities,  is  computed 
at  not  less  than  850,000  pounds,  or  $4,250,000  per 
annum.  The  hospitals,  alms-houses  and  free  schools, 
were  chiefly  founded  by  private  persons,  or  incorporated 
bodies  of  tradesmen.  Many  of  them  are  endowed  with 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  29 

perpetual  revenues — others  are  supported  by  annual  or 
occasional  voluntary  contributions. 

The  medical  assistance  in  the  hospitals  is  the  best 
which  the  profession  can  supply.  The  attendance  is  am- 
ple ;  the  rooms  are  generally  very  clean  and  wholesome, 
and  the  food  is  suitable  to  the  condition  of  the  patients. 
The  alms-houses  and  other  institutions  for  the  support 
of  the  aged  and  indigent,  exhibit  not  merely  an  appear- 
ance, but  the  real  possession  of  competence  and  ease. 

From  some  of  the  free  schools  pupils  have  been  sent 
to  the  universities,  as  well  prepared  as  those  from  any 
of  the  most  expensive  seminaries  ;  and  all  the  scholars 
receive  an  education  adapted  to  the  stations  for  which 
they  are  designed. 

But  independent  of  these  16,000  children,  who  are 
fed,  clothed  and  taught,  you  may  see  40,000  Sun- 
day scholars  every  Sabbath  picked  from  the  streets 
and  their  feet  led  into  the  house  of  prayer. 

Here  then  is  56,000  children,  who  otherwise  might 
be  prowling  about  the  streets  an/1  learning  the  road 
to  the  gallows,  snatched,  as  it  were,  from  destruc- 
tion by  these  friends  of  Christianity,  and  their  feet  di- 
rected into  the  ways  of  peace.  In  looking  at  this  state- 
ment, which  is  rather  under  than  over  the  truth,  we 
i.iay  thus  see  what  a  large  amount  of  sweet  is  here 
thrown  into  the  bitter  cup  of  human  wo.  Never  was 
there  found  in  any  of  the  large  cities  of  the  world,  an- 
cient or  modern,  so  many  asylums  for  alleviating  the 
miseries  of  man,  as  is  to  be  found  in  London,  for  which 
we  may  thank  the  Bible  :  besides,  in  the  day  in  which 
we  live,  there  is  not  a  spot  on  the  globe  where  true 
liberty,  or  rational  religion  exists,  except  where  the 
English  language  is  spoken.  Cesar  nor  Pompey,  Han- 
nibal nor  Alexander,  nor  any  of  the  heathen  champions, 
3* 


30  THORBTTRN'S  JOURNAL. 

ever  thought  of  setting  up  an  orphan  asylum.  These 
monuments  of  humanity  were  left  for  the  champions 
of  Christianity  to  erect.  I  saw  much  in  London  to 
please  the  eye  and  instruct  the  mind.  I  found  easy  ac- 
cess to  any  public  institution  by  means  of  a  friend,  and 
often  by  sending  in  my  name.  But  nothing;  gave  me 
such  a  feast  of  reason  and  such  a  flow  of  soul,  as  to  walk 
out,  just  as  the  last  bell  commenced  ringing  on  a  Sab- 
bath morning ;  then  thread  my  way  to  some  distant 
church,  where  at  almost  every  corner,  or  in  every  street 
on  my  way,  I  would  meet  some  free,  some  charity,  some 
parish,  or  some  Sunday  school.  To  see  them  in  dresses 
which  were  the  fashion  of  the  days  in  which  some  of  the 
schools  were  founded,  many  centuries  ago  ;  to  see  them 
with  long  coats  of  mixed  gray  cloth,  reaching  nearly  to 
the  heels,  with  very  broad  skirts,  red  jackets,  buff 
breeches,  blue  worsted  stockings,  black  shoes  and  brass 
buckles,  and  white  bands  under  their  chins,  like  little 
ministers,  all  neat  and  clean,  with  smiling  happy  faces, 
sometimes  five  hundred  in  a  line  ;  to  see  them  in  the 
house  %f  prayer,  making  the  responses  in  an  orderly 
manner,  chanting  and  singing  to  Him  who  has  ordained 
praise  to  come  from  the  lips  of  babes  and  sucklings;  to 
see  sometimes  five  or  six  thousand  of  these  little  immor- 
tals, all  engaged  in  this  pleasing  work.  I  say,  the  man 
who  can  look  at  this,  and  yet  his  eyes  refuse  their 
moisture,  must  have  a  heart  as  hard  as  the  nether  mill- 
stone. 

None  are  admitted  into  the  House  of  Lords  except 
members  of  parliament  and  strangers  having  a  ticket. 
I  was  offered  a  ticket,  but  then  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary that  you  be  in  court  dress.  So  as  this  would  cost 
more  money  than  I  was  willing  to  pay  for  the  sight  of 
ray  lords,  I  e'en  let  the  matter  rest. 


THORBTJRN'S  JOURNAL.  31 

I  had  read  much,  and  heard  more,  about  the  wicked- 
ness of  London;  about  sharpers,  swindlers  and  pick- 
pockets by  day  ;  about  thieves,  robbers,  and  murderers 
by  night ;  about  condemning  men  for  stealing  one  shil- 
ling, and  hanging  them  by  the  dozens  every  week  at 
Newgate.  I  was  in  London  a  good  part  of  the  winter, 
when  the  lamps  were  lit  at  3  P.  M.,  and  frequently  kept 
burning  till  8  o'clock  next  morning,  so  thick  and 
so  smoky  is  the  atmosphere,  and  *o  long  and  so  dark 
are  the  nights  ;  (by-the-by,  I  thought  the  town  looked  to 
more  advantage  at  night  than  it  did  by  day,  the  shops 
and  lamps  sent  forth  such  a  profusion  of  gas-light,  that 
the  people  seemed  animated  with  new  life,  and  the  shops 
showed  off  to  more  advantage.) 

I  walked  in  almost  every  street ;  and  at  almost  every 
hour  in  the  day  and  of  the  night  have  been  brought 
from  three  and  four  miles  out  of  town  after  midnight  in 
a  carriage,  sometimes  alone,  sometimes  in  company, 
but  never  received  an  uncivil  word,  or  met  an  interrup- 
tion from  any  one.  In  the  course  of  my  business  I 
passed  Newgate  almost  every  day.  The  sight  of  its  gloomy 
walls  never  failed  to  bring  up  in  my  mind  the  associa- 
tions of  wholesale  hanging.  I  seldom  failed  to  ask  the 
policeman  on  the  station  if  there  had  been,  or  if  he 
knew  when  there  was  to  be  an  execution  :  he  always 
answered  in  the  negative.  On  inquiry,  I  was  informed 
that  King  William  is  much  opposed  to  hanging,  except 
in  cases  of  murder,  thinking  it  better  to  banish  them 
to  Van  Diemau's  or  Botany  Bay.  Neither  is  it  so  dif- 
ficult to  travel  in  London  as  has  been  represented.  I 
have  rode  from  Paddington  to  the  Bank  of  England  in 
one  of  the  omnibuses,  a  distance  of  five  miles,  for  six- 
pence sterling,  about  eleven  cents. 

I  have   goae   to   find  a   name  and  number    three 


32  THORBITRN'S  JOURNAL.  • 

miles  frdm  my  lodging,  through  a  labyrinth  of  streets, 
knowing  nothing  of  the  way,  save  the  direction  of  the 
compass,  and  by  inquiring  at  the  corner  of  every  street, 
and  never  failed  of  attaining  my  object.  The  policemen, 
who  are  stationed  in  every  street  by  night  and  by  day, 
are  a  most  useful  body  of  men.  They  are  dressed  in  blue 
uniform ;  each  man  is  marked  on  the  collar  of  his  coat 
with  the  letter  of  his  division — they  are  furnished  with 
a  rattle,  a  cutlass  and  a  short  staff.  I  found  them,  and 
indeed  every  person  of  whom  I  made  inquiries,  to  be 
very  polite  and  obliging.  I  frequently  have  been  ac- 
companied by  one  of  them  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
to  show  me  the  street  I  wanted.  They  have  also  a  ma- 
chine called  a  cabriolet;  they  are  capable  of  carrying 
two  persons  besides  the  driver.  You  may  see  them  in 
every  street,  and  are  very  useful  to  strangers.  When  I 
first  entered  London,  the  stage  set  me  down  within  two 
miles  of  my  lodgings.  I  called  a  cabbas  it  passed,  gave 
the  driver  my  number,  where  T  was  carried  with  my 
trunk  for  22  cents.  You  will  no  doubt  suppose  I  have 
been  turning  the  wrong  side  of  the  leaf,  when  I  speak 
about  being  four  miles  from  London  at  midnight;  butin 
Rome  you  must  do  as  Rome  does ;  besides,  in  this'mighty 
Babylon,  night  and  day  are  nearly  reversed,  and  espe- 
cially in  winter,  when  they  have  only  four  or  five  hours 
day-light.  Very  few  of  the  merchants  sit  down  before 
seven  o'clock  to  their  dinner,  even  when  none  but  their 
own  family  are  present;  and  if  company  are  invited,  its 
always  at  8  o'clock.  I  have  been  at  parties  here  and 
at  Edinburgh,  where  dinner  was  set  on  the  table  at 
9  o'clock ;  then  wines,  cordials,  coffee  and  fruits  till 
11 — when  we  joined  the  ladies  in  another  room  at 
tea  till  12.  But  in  the  politest  circles  debauchery  has 
become  unfashionable.  The  temperance  societies  are 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  .    33 

prevailing  here,  but  they  don't  go  to  our  extremes. 
When  coffee  is  set  on  the  table  with  wines,  it  is  as  much  as 
to  say,  though  I  don't  use  wine  myself,  I  leave  my  guests 
to  their  choice.  However,  I  have  seen  life  in  all  its  va- 
rieties, from  the  lowest  to  the  highest :  its  all  vanity, 
when  compared  with  the  sober  realities  of  a  New-York 
or  Brooklyn  mode  of  life. 

About  the  year  1810,  when  the  British  parliament 
was  debating  the  Question  on  the  policy  of  enforcing 
their  orders  in  council,  and  so  making  war  on  America, 
one  of  the  blustering  fools  (for  they  have  fools  in  par- 
liament as  well  as  in  eongress)  said,  were  it  not  for 
England,  the  men  in  America  would  have  to  go  with 
long  beards.  Its  not  the  case  now  however,  for  my  friend 
P.  Rose,  corner  of  Liberty  and  William  streets,  makes 
better  razors  than  any  I  have  known  imported  ; — but 
if  they  can  make  razors,  it  don't  appear  that  they  can 
make  shaving  chairs  in  England.  In  London,  Liverpool, 
Edinburgh,  Glasgow,  Manchester,  &c.,  I  used  to  go 
every  time  to  a  different  barber  shop,  on  purpose  to  see 
if  they  had  a  comfortable  chair  to  sit  on  ;  but  never  saw 
one.  They  use  nothing  but  a  common  chair,  such  as  are 
used  in  families.  In  the  arcade  in  London  is  the  best 
looking  barber  shop  I  saw  in  Britain.  In  it  they  charge 
sixpence  sterling,  (eleven  cents)— threepence  was  the 
highest  I  ever  paid  in  any  other  shop;  but  even  here  they 
had  only  a  common  low-backed  Windsor  chair.  When 
getting  shaved,  your  head  hung  over  like  a  man  going  to 
be  guilotined,  with  his  face  to  the  sun.  I  found  it  a  very 
painful  operation,  sitting  so  long  in  that  position.  This 
arcade  shaving  shop  was  a  mere  hog-pen  in  comparison 
to  our  New-York  barber  shops.  I  think  the  whole  furni- 
tureof  the  roommighthavebeenboughtfor  twoguineas  ; 
the  looking-glass  was  about  12  by  18  inches.  Were/ 


34  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Mr.  Palmera,  corner  of  Liberty-street  and  Broadway, 
to  remove  himself  and  shop  furniture  to  Regent-street, 
London,  I  think  he  would  make  a  fortune  in  three 
years. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Regent-street — Handsome  Shops — St.  James',  Regent, 
and  Hyde  Parks — Lord  Wellington  and  his  Monu- 
ment— British  Museum — Blue  Coat  School,  fyc. 

HERE  every  thing  appears  on  a  great  and  grand  scale. 
All  seems  to  carry  an  air  of  stability :  iron  lamp,  bridge, 
gallery,  piazza,  gate  posts,  and  almost  every  thing  for 
which  we  use  heavy  timber,  is  there  substituted  by  iron. 
The  houses  are  built  to  shelter  the  heads  of  ten  genera- 
tions yet  to  come.  Indeed  many  of  the  churches  are 
above  one  thousand  years  old,  and  they  yet  look  as  if 
they  might  last  as  long  as  the  sun. 

The  shops,  especially  the  jewellers,  goldsmiths, 
mercers,  haberdashers,  furriers,  printers  and  stationers, 
make  a  most  splendid  appearance.  Regent-street  is  the , 
emporium  of  fashion.  Here  many  of  the  bow  windows 
are  glazed  with  panes  34  by  36  inches,  30  by  45,  &c. 
There  is  a  fur  shop  having  a  window  on  each  side  of  the 
door,  the  centre  pane  in  each  window  measuring  nine 
feet  by  five.  I  passed  this  shop  frequently  in  day-light, 
but  it  was  filled  with  customers.  Passing  one  evening, 
when  it  was  brilliantly  lighted,and  seeing  only  the  master 
and  his  clerks  within,  I  entered.  Says  I,  "  sir,  you  will 
please  excuse  me ;  but,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I 
would  be  glad  to  know  the  size,  quality  and  price  of 
those  large  panes  in  your  windows."  As  he  had  placed 
them  there  to  draw  attention,  he  seemed  not  displeased 
•with  my  freedom,  handed  me  a  chair,  and  politely 


36  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

answered  my  questions.  "  The  sflf  9  feet  by  5,  cost 
50  guineas  each  pane,  made  of  the  best  double  flint 
glass,  nearly  half  an  inch  thick,  and  has  stood  there  nine 
years."  The  glass  is  so  pure  of  itself,  and  kept  so  clean, 
that  at  night  I  laid  my  hand  on  it  to  ascertain  if  it 
had  not  been  removed.  Should  this  glass  get  accident- 
ally broken  by  a  passenger,  the  owner  can  recover  no 
more  than  10  shillings  sterling. 

In  the  month  of  March,  if  the  weather  is  fine, 
between  2  and  5  o'clock  is  the  time  to  see  the 
nobility,  gentry,  and  plebeians  to  the  most  advan- 
tage in  Regent-street,  St.  James',  Regent  and 
Hyde  Parks.  These  parks  are  open  to  all,  rich  and 
poor,  and  are  a  great  luxury  to  the  inhabitants.  The 
broad  walks  are  laid  tastefully  out,  surrounding  and 
intersecting  the  parks  in  all  directions,  and  kept  in 
excellent  order.  Thousands  of  carriages,  of  all  de- 
scriptions, from  the  coach  and  six  to  the  humble  hand 
cart,  containing  the  hopeful  shoots  of  some  rising 
family ;  thousands  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  mounted 
on  ass,  mule,  or  horse,  and  thousands  of  all  descriptions, 
shapes,  shades,  sex,  sizes,  age,  and  colours,  on  FOOT. — 
The  walks  are  wide  enough  for  carriages  to  pass  one 
another.  Here  you  may  see  enter  a  coach  with  six 
horses ;  the  first  and  second  horses  on  the  left  hand  side 
are  bestrode  by  two  out  riders,  in  top  boots  and  spurs, 
red  velvet  breeches,  yellow  waistcoat,  sky  blue  round 
jacket  with  red  collar,  dark  blue  velvet  cap  with  gold 
bands,  and  each  having  a  short  whip  in  his  hand  ;  besides, 
there  sits  on  a  lofty  coach  box  a  fine  jolly  red  faced 
looking  mortal,  with  a  powdered  wig  on  his  head,  and 
a  large  box  coat  on  his  back,  having  the  reins  and  a 
long  whip  in  his  hands  :  beside  him  sits  a  well  dressed, 
good  looking  woman,  about  26  years  of  age — this  is 
our  waiting  maid;  behind  the  coach  stands  two  very 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  37 

handsome  men  in  much  the  same  dress,  wigs,  and 
livery,  each  of  them  holding  a  black  rod  in  his  hand 
about  eight  feet  long;  when  the  coach  stops,  they  jump 
down  and  take  their  stand  at  each  door  of  the  coach, 
not  knowing  whether  my  lady  may  get  out  right  or 
left.  When  my  lady  enters  a  house  or  store,  they  take 
their  stand  on  the  right  and  left  of  the  door,  with  the 
rods  in  their  hands,  and  wait  her  return.  Now  this 
must  be  my  Lord  B's  carriage;  (but  we  are  still  in  the 
park.)  Inside  of  the  coach  sits  my  lord  and  lady  with 
their  two  daughters.  My  lord  looks  old  at  fifty,  and  my 
lady  at  forty-five  looks  thin  and  withered,  the  effects  of 
high  living  and  keeping  unseasonable  hours.  She, 
however,  wears  a  wig  and  curls  made  of  young  black 
hair,  which  reminds  you  of  a  sheep  in  lamb's  clothing. 
The  young  ladies  are  looking  out  at  each  window,  to 
see  if  they  can  see  any  body,  or  to  see  if  any  body  can 
see  them.  You  may  also  see  some  hundreds  of  girls, 
from  four  to  fourteen,  trundling  hoops  over  the  smooth 
grass  in  the  beautiful  parks.  This  is  a  favourite  sport, 
but  rather  ludicrous.  Had  Mrs.  Trollope  seen  this  among 
OUT  field  sports  in  America,  she  would  have  written  ten 
pages  to  prove  that  the  thing  was  extremely  vulgar. 

In  this  (Hyde)  Park,  they  have  erected  an  earthen 
mound,  nearly  twenty  feet  high.  On  the  top  of  this 
mound  is  a  monument  in  honour  of  Lord  Wellington ; 
it  is  of  cast  metal.  They  say  it  represents  Achilles,  but 
it  looked  to  me  like  a  great  big  black  man,  with  the  lid 
of  a  soup  pot  in  his  hand.  However,  when  you  lake 
your  stand  on  this  mound  on  a  fine  day,  you  may  see 
before  you  the  whole  beauty  and  fashion  of  England — 
royalty,  gentry,  nobility,  and  plebeiandry.  But  with 
very,  very  few  exceptions,  the  servant  men  are  de- 
cidedly better  made,  and  far  better  looking  than 

4 


38  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

their  noble  masters.  It  is  an  undisputed  fact,  that  the 
finest  men  and  women  in  Britain  are  engaged  in  the 
corps  domestique. 

Lord  Wellington's  palace  stands  in  the  corner  of 
Hyde  Park  and  Piccadilly.  The  back  windows  lookout 
on  his  monument  aforesaid.  The  front  windows  are 
all  covered  outside  with  iron  blinds,  to  prevent  the  mob 
from  breaking  his  glass.  Here  we  see  the  mutability 
of  fortune.  Sixteen  years  ago  he  and  his  carriage  were 
dragged  in  triumph  through  the  streets — now  he  walks 
out  in  disguise.  Then  his  face  was  as  the  light  of  the 
sun  among  them — now  the  light  of  the  sky  is  shut  out 
from  his  dwelling  with  iron  blinds  and  bars.  Mob  like, 
•when  led  by  political  rascals — hosanna  to-day,  and 
crucify  to-morrow. 

I  visited  the  British  Museum.  It  was  founded  in  the 
sixteenth  century.  It  is  open  to  the  public  three  days 
in  the  week  gratis.  You  write  your  name  and  place 
of  abode  in  a  book,  and  then  pass  in.  It  is  kept  in  a 
large  and  handsome  building.  It  is  a  wonderful  col- 
lection, and  neatly  kept.  Here  is  a  regular  file  of 
newspapers,  amounting  to  700  volumes,  neatly  bound. 
You  are  also  shown  the  original  copy  of  the  Magna 
Charta,  given  by  King  John  in  1200.  It  is  kept  in  a 
glass  case,  and  is  in  fine  order.  It  was  written  by  the 
priests  then.  They  only  were  the  men  ;  and  wisdom 
died  with  them.  The  nations  of  men  were  under  their 
feet,  and  a  passport  to  enter  or  retire  from  the  world 
was  required  at  their  hands. 

The  Blue  Coat  School,  so  called,  having  reference 
to  the  costume  of  the  children  supported  and  educated 
there,  was  founded  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  There 
are  generally  in  this  establishment  from  1000  to  12,000 
boys  and  girls  receiving  their  education,  besides  being 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  39 

clothed  and  boarded.  The  annual  expenditure  is 
£30,000  sterling.  The  dress  is  a  blue  cloth  gown,  with 
sleeves  reaching  to  the  ancles,  yellow  flannel  under 
clothes,  with  a  small  black  doth  cap,  which  just  covers 
the  crown  of  the  head.  An  interesting  sight  is  exhi- 
bited in  the  hall  every  Sunday  evening  from  March  to 
May,  inclusive,  to  which  strangers  are  admitted  by 
tickets,  easily  obtained  from  any  person  connected 
with  the  establishment.  All  the  children  sup  together 
at  6  o'clock.  The  ceremony  commences  by  three 
strokes  of  a  hammer,  intended  to  enforce  silence  ;  one 
of  the  senior  boys  reads  a  chapter,  after  which  prayers 
are  read,  and  a  hymn  sung — all  the  boys  standing  and 
pronouncing  Amen!  together.  The  company  are  seat- 
ed at  one  end  of  the  hall,  and  the  steward,  master, 
matron,  &c.,  occupy  the  other.  When  the  supper  is 
concluded,  the  doors  of  the  wards  are  opened,  and  a 
procession  formed  in  the  following  order  :  the  nurse  ; 
a  boy,  carrying  two  lighted  candles  ;  several  with  bread- 
baskets and  trays,  and  the  others  in  pairs,  who  all  bow 
as  they  pass  the  company.  In  this  hall,  likewise,  the 
lord  mayor,  aldermen,  &c.,  attend  on  St.  Matthew's 
day  to  hear  orations  from  the  senior  boys.  In  the 
chapel  of  this  institution  is  interred  Thomas  Burdett, 
the  ancestor  of  Sir  Francis.  He  was  put  to  death  in  the 
reign  of  Edward  IV.,  for  wishing  the  horns  of  a  favour- 
ite white  stag  (which  the  king  had  killed)  in  the  body 
of  the  person  who  advised  him  to  do  it.  No  wonder 
that  Francis  became  a  radical.  In  St.  Paul's,  Covent 
Garden,  lies  the  remains  of  Butler,  author  of  "Hudi- 
bras  ;"  also  Dr.  Wolcott,  so  well  known  under  the  name 
of  Peter  Pindar.  St.  Giles,  Cripplegate,  Milton  the 
poet,  and  Fox,  author  of  the  "Book  of  Martyrs,"  are 
buried  here.  Oliver  Cromwell  was  married  in  this 


40  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

church.     In  St.  Mary's  church,  Lombard-street,   the 
Rev.  John  Newton  is  interred. 

Dissenter's  burial-ground — John  Bunyan,  author  of 
the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress ;"  Susannah,  mother  of  John 
and  Charles  Wesley ;  Dr.  Watts ;  Dr.  Rees,  author  of 
the  "  Cyclopedia,"  and  many  other  eminent  men  are 
interred  here.  St.  Pancras,  old  church — here  is  the 
tomb  of  the  brave  but  unfortunate  Paoli.  St.  Georges, 
Hanover  Square — Laurence  Sterne,  the  wit  and  divine, 
is  interred  here.  St.  Margaret's  church  contains  the 
grave  of  Sir  Walter  Raleigh.  Westminster  Abbey, 
poets'  corner — Ben  Jonson,  Spencer,  Chaucer,  Milton, 
Gray,  Thomson,  Mrs.  Rowe,  Goldsmith,  Handal,  Ad- 
dison,  Sir  Isaac  Newton,  William  Shakspeare,  <fcc. 
Here  also  Thomas  Parr  is  interred — he  died  at  the  age 
of  152  years.  I  was  much  gratified  in  visiting  the  old 
churches,  and  walking  among  the  habitations  of  the 
dead. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  visit  to  the  House  of  Commons  and  Covent  Garden 
Theatre. 

AT  5  P.  M.,  the  hour  of  assembling  with  my  friend, 
I  took  my  stand  in  the  lobby  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons. In  a  few  minutes  Mr.  M.,  member  for  West- 
minster, arrived.  I  was  introduced  as  Mr.  T.,  from 
New- York — wishing  to  see  how  business  was  done 
there — and  a  ticket  for  the  gallery  requested.  Mr.  M. 
said  he  had  just  parted  with  both  of  his  tickets,  (each 
member  is  allowed  two  tickets  per  day  for  their  friends 
— strangers  pay  2s.  6d.  to  get  in  the  gallery,)  but  he 
would  get  me  in  notwithstanding.  He  soon  returned 
with  a  written  order  from  the  speaker  to  admit  me  on 
the  floor  of  the  House.  It  is  just  such  a  looking  room, 
gallery  and  all,  as  the  Scotch  Presbyterian  Church  in 
Cedar-street.  In  place  of  the  pulpit  there  stands  a 
throne,  gilded  and  grand  enough.  In  front  of  the  throne 
the  speaker  sits  with  a  large  wig  on  his  head,  having 
two  tails,  one  hanging  from  each  shoulder  and  resting 
on  the  breast.  They  are  as  large  as  the  tail  of  a  merino 
•heep,  and  look  exactly  like  the  picture  of  Lord  Eldon 
you  have  seen  on  the  sign  of  Gould,  Banks  &  Gould, 
corner  of  Broad  and  Wall  streets.  A  table  stands  before 
him,  at  which  sit  two  clerks.  They,  too,  have  wigs  and 
4* 


42  THORBTJRN'S  JOURNAL. 

tails,  only  the  wigs  are  plainer  and  the  tails  shorter. 
On  the  table  lies  a  golden,  silver,  or  gilded  mace.  This 
is  a  powerful  instrument  in  the  hand  of  the  speaker, 
especially  when  he  knocks  down  the  opposition  with 
it.  On  the  right  and  left  of  the  chair  are  rows  of  seats, 
stuffed,  and  covered  with  leather,  rising  above  each 
other.  On  the  left  sits  Cobbett,  O'Connell  &  Co.  On 
the  right,  the  ministerials;  Under  the  front  gallery  are 
also  raised  seats  to  accommodate  strangers  admitted 
on  the  floor.  Of  course  there  is  a  large  open  space 
between  the  front  seats  and  the  speaker's  chair. — 
When  I  entered,  this  open  space  was  filled  with 
members  standing,  and  most  of  them  having  on  their 
hats.  They  were  in  small  groups,  and  conversing  as 
loud  as  merchants  do  on  exchange ;  and  other  mem- 
bers, on  each  side  of  the  house,  were  sitting,  some 
covered  and  some  uncovered.  Many  of  them  were 
also  talking  in  pairs,  and  a  few,  but  very  few,  were 
listening  to  the  member  who  was  speaking. 

This  same  speaker  was  no  other  than  the  great 
Daniel  O'Connell,  Esq.  It  matters  not  what  he  was 
speaking  about ;  but  his  manner,  matter  and  voice,  very 
much  resembled  the  matter,  manner  and  voice  of  the 
late  Thomas  A.  Emmet.  Mr.  Holcomb  next  rose  in 
support  of  O'Connell's  project.  While  he  spoke  a 
scene  ensued  which  I  could  never  have  believed  would 
have  been  acted  in  the  British  House  of  Commons, 
had  I  not  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes.  British  House  of 
Commons,  indeed !  thought  I,  as  I  viewed  the  uproar  : 
common  enough  you  look  in  all  conscience;  and  a  Re- 
formed Parliament  too. 

You  have  often  seen  in  their  speeches  the  word  (hear) 
and  sometimes  (hear,  hear.)  I  used  to  think  this  was 
indecorous  enough  ;  but  it  was  hear,  hear,  hear,  hear, 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  43 

hear,  five  times,  and  by  five  times  twenty-five  voices  at 
once,  and  as  fast  as  they  could  blow  them  out  of  their 
mouths — strangers  in  the  galleries  joining  in  confusion. 
Then  it  was  ba,  ba,  ba,  and  at  last  they  came  to  a  loud 
hurrah.  Here  Mr.  Holcomb  paused.  Says  he,  "  Mr. 
Speaker,  am  I  to  be  insulted  in  this  manner  in  this 
house  with  impunity.  If  any  gentleman  will  step  for- 
ward and  give  his  name,  I  shall  know  how  to  take  my 
measures."  Here  he  was  again  drowned  by  the  hears, 
the  bahs,  the  hurrahs,  and  a  universal  laugh,  in  which 
the  speaker  of  the  house,  the  clerks,  door-keeper*  and 
strangers  joined.  In  1793,  there  might  have  been  more 
blood  shed  in  a  meeting  of  the  sans  culottes  in  Paris, 
but  more  confusion  and  more  noise  I  think  there 
could  not  be. 

Says  I  to  my  neighbour,  is  this  the  far-famed  House 
of  Commons  ?  Was  it  by  such  men  and  manners  that  the 
measures  which  lost  to  Britain  a  continent  were  sanc- 
tioned? Was  it  here,  or  in  the  next  room,  that  Lord  Chat- 
ham, while  protesting  against  the  mad  measures  of  Lord 
North,  sunk  down  and  died  at  his  post  ?  Was  it  thus 
the  orders  in  council  were  confirmed,  which  eventuated 
in  the  late  war  ?  And  is  it  thus  they  discuss  plans  on 
which  hang  the  life  and  interests  of  millions?  It  is  even 
so  ;  and  this  is  the  parliament,  and  a  reformed  parlia- 
ment too,  who  think  they  are  the  men,  and  that  wisdom 
will  die  with  them.  Thinks  I,  had  Hall,  Hamilton,  or 
Fiddler,  witnessed  such  a  mob-looking  government  in 
our  congress,  they  might  have  lived  a  twelve-month  on 
the  paragraph.  Cobbett  and  O'Connell  sat  side  by  side 
in  front  of  the  opposition  ranks.  They  looked  like  two 
great  mastiffs  of  democracy,  panting  to  enter  the  ring  of 
political  bull  baiting. 

I  thought  of  going  into  the  House  of  Peers,  but  a  lit- 


44 


THORBITRN  S    JOURNAL. 


tie  trouble  and  a  small  expense  was  in  the  way.  A 
gentleman  proposed  to  introduce  me  to  the  king,  as 
there  was  a  levee  to  be  held  next  day — but,  says  he,  you 
will  have  to  get  a  court  dress  ;  and,  says  I,  what  is  a 
court  dress  ?  says  he,  you  will  have  to  get  silk  stock- 
ings, breeches,  a  cocked  hat  and  a  sword.  Says  I,  were 
I  to  put  all  these  articles  on,  and  look  in  the  glass,  I 
should  not  know  myself.  He  smiled  ;  but,  says  I,  what 
will  this  sword,  hat,  &c.,  &c.,  cost?  Why,  says  he, 
you  may  get  them  all  for  twenty  guineas.  Twenty 
guineas,  says  I ;  I  would  not  give  twenty  guineas 
to  see  all  the  kings  in  Christendom.  Ah,  says  he, 
you  are  a  true  Scot.  On  the  whole,  I  thought  the 
speakers  in  the  House  of  Commons  were  very  com- 
mon-place speakers,  not  to  be  compared  (in  my 
opinion)  with  Maxwell,  Price,  Anthon,  three  eminent 
lawyers,  and  many  others  I  have  heard  at  the  Hall. 

Never  having  seen  a  play  acted,  and  wishing  to  see 
how  they  held  the  mirror  up  to  nature,  I  took  my 
seat  in  a  front  box.  The  house  was  splendid,  the  com- 
pany splendid,  the  dresses  of  the  actors  splendid,  and 
as  far  as  I  could  judge,  the  acting  was  splendid.  This 
was  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre — the  play  Richard  the 
Third.  It  was  acted  to  the  life,  as  a  connoisseur  told 
me.  I  liked  the  play,  and  heard  nothing  immoral  about 
it.  But  in  the  farce  or  afterpiece,  when  a  company  of 
young  women  came  out  to  dance,  I  was  perfectly  satis- 
fied that  the  theatre  is  no  school  for  morality.  I  ex- 
pressed my  astonishment  to  a  friend  beside  me ;  he 
said  that  was  modesty  itself,  compared  to  what  he  had 
aeen  on  some  occasions. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

The  Bank  of  England — General  Post-Office — Custom 
House — Streets  of  London — Female  Postillions,  tyc. 

The  Bank  of  England 

Is  the  most  important  institution  of  the  kind  that 
exists  in  the  world.  And  the  history  of  banking  fur- 
nishes no  example  that  can  at  all  compare  with  it  for 
the  range  and  multiplicity  of  its  transactions,  and  for 
the  vast  influence  which  it  possesses  among  the  moneyed 
institutions  of  every  country. 

This  bank  was  chartered  in  1694,  one  hundred  and 
forty  years  ago.  (Query.  When  will  America  boaatof 
a  bank  so  ancient  ?) 

The  business  hours  are  from  9  till  5  ;  and  any  person 
may  visit  most  of  the  apartments.  The  principal  en- 
trance is  in  Threadneedle-street,  not  far  from  the 
American  Coffee-House.  This  immense  pile  of  build- 
ings is  more  extensive  in  its  range  of  offices  than  any 
other  public  institution  in  London.  I  saw  one  room 
wherein  were  upwards  of  100  clerks,  all  engaged  in  one 
distinct  department  of  the  business  ;  there  is  one  room, 
where  the  exclusive  business  of  the  clerks  is  to  detect 
forgeries.  The  rotunda  is  a  spacious  circular  room,  with 


46  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

a  lofty  dome.  Here  a  large  and  heterogenous  mass  of 
persons,  of  all  nations  and  classes,  assemble  to  buy  and 
sell  stock.  The  building  is  440  feet  on  the  west  side, 
410  on  the  north  side,  365  on  the  south,  and  245  on  the 
east  side  ;  the  whole  is  constructed  without  timber. 
I  saw  one  clerk  receiving,  and  another  paying  out 
sovereigns  by  the  pound  weight. 

The  General  Post-Office. 

Its  system  and  arrangements  is  another  of  those 
tremendous  concerns,  with  which  this  world  of  a  city 
abounds.  It  is  situated  in  St.  Martin' s-le-Gr and. 
The  building  is  400  feet  in  length,  and  eighty  in  depth. 
The  secretary  resides  in  the  building,  and  the  upper 
stories  contain  sleeping-rooms  for  the  foreign  clerks, 
who  are  liable  to  be  called  to  duty  on  the  arrival  of  the 
mails.  The  basement  story  is  rendered  fire-proof  by 
brick  vaultings.  They  have  an  ingenious  machine  for 
conveying  coals  to  the  upper  stories,  and  a  simple 
means  for  forcing  water  to  any  part  of  the  edifice  in 
case  of  fire.  The  whole  building  is  lighted  by  gas,  of 
which  there  are  nearly  1,000  burners. 

In  this  city  you  may  walk  in  a  straight  line  a  dis- 
tance of  seven  miles  without  getting  off  the  pavements. 
Therefore,  to  expedite  the  delivery  of  the  letters  in 
the  morning,  they  have  light  carriages  called  accelera- 
tors. In  them  are  placed  the  postman  and  his  letters  ; 
each  taking  a  div  ision  of  the  metropolis,  they  drop  the  let- 
ter carriers  in  their  own  particular  walk.  The  average 
number  of  letters  that  pass  through  the  post-office  in 
one  week  exceeds  half  a  million.  The  inland-office 
employs  about  200  superintendents,  clerks,  and  sorters  : 
besides  about  200  persona  in  delivering  the  letters; 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  47 

and  the  foreign  department  employs  about  20  clerks 
and  sorters,  besides  34  persons  in  delivering.  The 
two-penny  post  employs  about  50  sorters  and  clerks — 
besides  there  is  one  branch  office  in  Lombard-street, 
one  in  Charing  Cross,  and  one  in  Vere-street;  there 
are  besides  upwards  of  150  receiving  houses  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  city. 

The  Custom-House 

Is  another  mammoth  concern.  Its  length  480,  and  its 
breadth  100  feet.  It  affords  accommodation  to  about  650 
clerks  and  officers,  besides  1000  tide  waiters  and  ser- 
vants. The  long-room  for  entries,  &c.,  is  180  feet 
long,  and  60  in  width.  They  have  a  comfortable  ar- 
rangement in  this  room; — just  as  the  clock  struck  one, 
I  observed  a  number  of  small  boys  come  in,  with  four 
raw  oysters  and  a  piece  of  bread  on  a  plate,  and  set  it 
down  on  the  desks  by  each  clerk.  I  thought  this  was 
preferable  to  running  out  to  an  eating  house.  This 
building  stands  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames  in  the 
lower  end  of  the  city,  much  in  the  same  proportion  to 
London,  as  if  it  stood  on  the  Coffee-House  Slip  in  New- 
York.  The  banks,  post-office,  exchange,  <fec.,  <fec.,  are 
all  down  town. 

I  dined  with  an  old  gentleman  who  had  been  an  offi- 
cer in  the  custom-house  for  50  years — he  is  now  retired 
on  full  pay.  He  says  that  no  competent  officer  is  ever 
discharged  except  for  bad  behavior,  and  whenever  they 
have  served  50  years  in  any  office,  they  are  entitled  to  full 
pay  for  life.  I  think  this  is  apolitic  and  just  arrangement. 
It  stimulates  to  good  behavior ;  and  when  a  man  serves 
the  public  faithfully  for  50  years,  he  certainly  is  justly 
entitled  to  a  comfortable  support  during  the  few  re- 


48  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

maining  years  of  his  life.  But  in  America  we  manage 
things  otherwise — no  matter,  though  a  man  may  have 
lost  an  eye,  an  arm,  or  a  leg,  when  fighting  for  his 
country's  rights.  No  matter,  though  his  goods  have 
been  pillaged,  his  dwelling  burned,  and  his  wife  and 
children  drove  to  look  for  shelter  through  the  freezing 
snow  of  a  winter's  night.  No  matter,  though  he  has 
served  the  public  with  fidelity  and  honesty  ever  since  his 
appointment  in  the  days  of  Washington.  No  matter, 
though  his  salary  is  barely  sufficient  to  keep  soul  and 
body  together,  and  of  course  he' is  unable  to  lay  up  for 
old  age.  All  this  matters  not:  he  is  removed  to  make 
room  for  some  lazy,  hungry,  political  favourite,  who 
was  very  useful  to  the  party  at  the  last  election,  by 
cursing  and  swearing,  telling  lies  and  getting  drunk  at 
the  poles  ;  (and  yet  these  men  are  supported  by  the 
majority  of  those  who  are  styled  friends  of  morality.) 
The  consequence  is,  that  no  man  of  honour  or  respecta- 
bility will  give  up  the  profits  of  his  own  profession 
for  the  sake  of  serving  the  public ;  and  men  without 
principle,  knowing  the  uncertain  tenor  by  which  they 
hold  their  office,  will  make  the  most  of  it,  (as  many  of 
them  have  done,)  and  so  become  defaulters. 

Another  great  evil  is  the  instability  of  every  thing. — 
In  less  than  35  years  I  have  seen  two  United  States' 
Banks  cut  up,  mangled  and  murdered,  to  answer  the 
purposes  of  a  few  unprincipled,  pennyless,  political  in- 
triguers. 

But  to  return  to  the  streets  of  London.  Nothing  can 
exceed  the  good-natured  humility  of  many  ladies  and 
gentlemen  of  the  British  metropolis;  for  instead  of  em- 
ploying their  coachmen  and  grooms  to  drive  them,  they 
frequently  undertake  the  office  of  their  servants,  and 
mount  the  coach  box,  or  the  dicky,  while  the  servants 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  49 

arc  lounging  by  their  sides,  or  lolling  within  the  car- 
riage. The  coach-box  tete-a-tete  between  ladies  and 
their  grooms,  have  a  most  engaging  effect  in  the  crowded 
streets  of  London,  particularly  if  Thomas  happens 
(which  is  sometimes  the  case)  to  hare  his  arms  round 
the  waist  of  his  mistress  to  prerent  her  falling — into 
worse  hands.  The  drive  in  Hyde  Park,  and  that  noisy, 
crowded,  thronged  thoroughfare,  Bond-street,  that  pup- 
pet-show stage  of  fashion,  presents  many  scenes  of  this 
kind.  Here  may  often  be  seen  a  female  flogging-driver 
(improperly  called  a  lady)  dashing  along  in  her  lofty 
curricle,  with  one  lounging  groom  at  her  side,  and  two 
others  behind,  thereby  creating  wonder,  fear,  and  pity, 
from  a  gaping  multitude. 

I  believe  London  is  the  only  place  in  the  world  where 
men  and  women  of  fashion  have  raised  themselves  to 
a  level  with  their  coachmen  and  postillions.  Had  Mrs. 
Trollope,  or  Parson  Fiddler,  witnessed  such  scenes  in 
New-York,  what  a  grand  theme  there  would  have  been 
for  a  display  of  their  fine  moral  sensibilities. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Second  visit  to  the  Tower  of  London. 

IN  the  Tower  of  London  there  are  a  thousand  recol- 
lections of  events,  generally  painful,  but  all  interesting, 
which  seem  by  most  people  entirely  forgotten.  There, 
not  only  virtue  and  heroism,  but  female  innocence  and 
beauty  have  been  offered  up  a  catacomb  to  the  base 
passions-  of  many  of  those  royal  blooded  monsters, 
Kings — men  falsely  so  called — who,  in  days  gone  by, 
cursed  these  beautiful  fields  of  England  (for,  thank  God, 
neither  the  annals  of  my  native  nor  of  my  adopted 
country  are  stained  by  deeds  so  barbarous)  with  their 
hateful  persons.  This  honour  of  murdering  weak, 
delicate,  helpless,  beautiful  woman,  seems  exclusively 
to  belong  to  those  chivalrous  spirits,  the  descendants 
of  St.  George,  St.  Louis,  Bonaparte's  invincibles,  and 
those  opium-fed  beings  called  Turks.  When  I  stood 
on  the  spot  where  the  head  of  Lady  Jane  Gray  and 
others  rolled  in  the  basket,  these  and  the  following 
reflections  forced  themselves  on  my  mind.  I  looked 
back  to  the  days  when  that  monster  in  human  shape, 
King  Richard,  cursed  the  earth.  I  saw,  on  the  spot 
where  I  stood,  the  scaffold,  the  block,  the  executioner 
in  horrid  attire,  and  at  this  moment  the  fatal  axe  was 
in  my  hand.  I  saw  the  ring  formed,  composed  of  the 


THORBTJRN'd    JOURNAL.  61 

Knights  of  the  Temple,  of  the  Cross,  of  Malta,  and  of 
Jerusalem.  There  they  sat  on  the  backs  of  their  hor- 
ses,  themselves  accoutred  in  all  the  material  and  cir- 
cumstance of  war — shield  and  buckler,  sword  in  hand, 
spear  in  rest,  and  bow  and  quiver  by  their  sides.  And 
for  what  is  all  this  military  array  ?  Why  it  is  one 
thousand  of  the  Champions  of  England  met  to  assist 
in  the  murder  of  a  weak,  beautiful,  innocent  woman.  I 
looked  up  to  the  bell,  and  fancied  I  heard  it  toll.  I 
turned  and  beheld  the  door  through  which  she  walked 
to  death,  supported  by  two  priests  bearing  the  cross — 
her  sable  dress  and  mourning  veil — her  face  pale  yet 
lovely  in  death.  She  looked  like  a  tender  lilly  of  the 
valley,  drooping  its  modest  head  among  the  black  smoke 
and  cinders  of  Mount  Vesuvius.  But  what  must  have 
been  her  thoughts  when  she  beheld  the  Percy,  the 
Gloster,  the  York,  the  Lancaster,  and  all  those  mighty 
murderers  of  the  human  race,  assembled  to  shed  her 
blood  :  they,  who,  but  a  few  days  before,  had  wore 
her  colour,  fought  in  her  name  at  the  tournament,  talked 
about  lady  love,  and  bent  to  her  the  knee — now,  like 
servile  slaves,  at  the  nod  of  their  little  master  they 
guard  her  to  the  slaughter.  Now  Mrs.  Trollope  and 
Parson  Fiddler,  these  beings  said  they  were  English- 
men ;  but  had  there  been  aught  than  craven  blood 
in  their  milk  and  water  veins,  they  would  have  sped 
their  arrows  through  the  black  soul  of  their  tyrant. 

There  the  patriot,  with  a  brow  of  indignant  virtue, 
and  a  mind  flaming  with  holy  zeal  for  the  welfare  of 
his  fellow  men,  has  smiled  under  the  axe,  and  put 
the  seal  of  blood  to  the  testament  of  his  principles. — 
There  the  faithful  and  upright  minister  has  found  his 
prison  and  his  grave,  from  the  sceptred  and  ungrateful 
hand  too  forgivingly  saluted  when  raised  to  strike  the 


52  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

annihilating  blow.*  And  there,  too,  the  "  diadem  en- 
circled brow"  has  one  moment  stood  exalted  in  the 
pride  and  entire  plenitude  of  power,  and  the  next  sunk 
under  the  arm  of  the  assassin.  But  there  are  re- 
collections of  a  livelier  kind  attached  to  the  tower.  A 
long  race  of  princes  kept  court  there.  Among  them 
are  Henry  V.  and  Edward  III.  Within  its  walls  those 
two  scourges  of  France  welcomed  "shout  and  revelry," 
and  fair  dames  distributed  prizes  to  the  victors  at  the 
tournament,  when  the  mailed  heroes  "  drank  the  red 
wine  through  the  helmet  barred,"  and  the  proud  crusa- 
der— "  le  casque  sur  le  front,  et  le  croix  sur  le  sein," — 
"  with  helmet  on  his  brow,  and  cross  upon  his  breast," 
reined  in  his  stately  courser,  and  dismounted  to  bend 
the  knee  to  beauty.  Thus  the  union  of  grandeur  and 
misery,  of  the  palace  and  the  dungeon,  of  all  the  ex- 
tremes of  human  existence,  have  contributed  to  make 
the  tower  a  place  of  durable  remembrance. 

Diverging  from  Tower-street  a  little  to  the  left,  on 
entering  upon  Tower  Hill,  is  the  spot  where  the  scaffold 
formerly  stood,  near  the  south-western  angle  of  the  iron 
palisadoes  enclosing  the  plantation.  These  scaffold- 
posts  were  fixtures  in  the  ground,  the  planks  that 
covered  them  being  only  removed  after  an  execution. 
They  remained  there  until  the  revolution,  and  consisted 
of  four  upright  pieces  of  wood  placed  at  right  angles, 
having  two  shorter  posts  on  the  western  side,  which 
latter  most  probably  supported  the  steps — those  steps, 
to  ascend  which  Sir  Thomas  Moore  asked  assistance 
of  the  lieutenant  of  the  tower,  saying,  "  friend,  help  me 
up,  and  when  I  come  down  again  let  me  shift  for  myself," 
— and  to  the  executioner,  that  "  he  would  get  little 

*  Read  the  fate  of  Cromwell,  Earl  of  Essex,  in  Hume. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  53 

credit  for  beheading  him,  his  neck  was  so  short."  There 
also  fell  his  friend  Fisher,  Bishop  of  Rochester,  who 
lingered  a  year  in  the  tower,  deprived  even  of  necessary 
clothing,  for  refusing  to  acknowledge  that  monster  of 
crime,  Henry,  to  be  God's  vicegerent  upon  earth. 

There  died  Cromwell,  Earl  of  Essex,  without  having 
had  a  trial ;  the  virtuous  Earl  of  Surry,  one  of  our 
early  poets  ;  the  politic  Strafibrd,  and  the  energetic  Sir 
Henry  Vane,  whose  last  address  to  the  people  being 
feared,  was  drowned  by  the  noise  of  drums  placed  round 
the  scaffold  for  that  purpose.  And  there  fell  the 
patriqtic  and  heroic  Sidney,  the  innocent  and  venerable 
Countess  ot  Salisbury,  the  last  of  the  line  of  thePlanta- 
genets,  who  ran  round  the  scaffold,  and  refused  to  lay 
her  head  on  the  block  without  a  trial,  her  gray  locks 
hanging  over  her  shoulders,  till,  after  many  fruitless 
blows  aimed  at  her  neck  by  the  executioner,  the  race 
that  had  swayed  the  sceptre  of  England  for  three  hun- 
dred years,  was  extinguished  by  a  brutal  stroke.  (Well, 
Mrs.  Trollope,  where  was  now  your  champions  of 
England,  your  gallant  knights,  your  men  of  refinement, 
with  their  breast-plates  of  steel  and  ten  thousand  lances 
at  rest — a  set  of  babbling  boys,  gabbling  about  lady 
love  and  protecting  innocence  ?  There  they  stand 
in  mock  martial  array  to  witness  the  brutal  murder  of 
their  grandmother.  Why,  woman,  you  never  heard 
of  such  soulless  meanness  among  the  red  savages  in 
the  western  wilds  of  America.*) 


*  These  and  similar  remarks  I  made  to  the  chief  officers,  their 
ladies  and  daughters,  wardens,  constables,  lieutenants,  mayors, 
&c.  In  the  room  which  contains  the  armory  I  saw  150,000  stand 
of  arms,  all  ready  for  actual  service  in  five  minutes.  This  room  is 
345  feot  long  by  60  broad.  While  walking  here  with  the  warden, 


54  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

For  the  tower  again.  There  poor  Anna  Boleyn 
smiled  at  the  shortness  of  her  neck  for  the  headsman's 
purpose.  There  poor  Jane  Shore  was  left  to  die  in  a 
ditch  with  hunger  and  cold,  because  another  of  those 
brutal  kings  commanded  his  slaves  not  to  give  her  food 
or  shelter.  While  I  stood  on  Shore  ditch,  I  wondered 
in  my  mind — "  could  there  not  be  found  MEN  enough  in 
all  England,  rather  to  have  torn  the  flinty  heart  from 
his  carcass." 

Volumes  might  be  filled  with  the  deeds  of  those  devils 
in  human  shape,  but  instead  of  enumerating  others,  it 
may  be  best  to  follow  the  path  over  which  their  head- 
less trunks  were  conveyed,  back  to  their  former  place 
of  confinement.  There  is  something  very  imposing  in 
the  massy  buildings  of  the  tower  gates  and  their  quad- 
ruple guards,  in  passing  under  the  low,  heavy,  gothic 
portals  which  lead  to  it,  and  which  have  conducted  so 
many,  asShakspeare  has  it,  to  "  make  a  bloody  supper  in 
the  tower."  Dungeons  and  bastiles,  inquisition  and 
torture,  rush  upon  the  mind,  and  one  thinks  of  the  En- 


the  officers,  ladies,  &c.,  came  in  in  dozens.  I  asked  the  warden 
what  it  meant.  Says  he,  "  they  have  come  to  see  you."  "  Then," 
says  I,  "  as  this  is  a  place  of  sights,  let  us  go  and  see  them."  I 
was  introduced — when,  for  ten  minutes,  there  was  perhaps  more 
shaking  of  hands  and  tender  good  will  than  has  taken  place  thero 
since  the  days  of  King  John  and  the  Magna  Charta.  First  came 
the  hard  mailed  glove  of  the  veteran  of  Waterloo.  Then  the  soft 
glove  of  the  ladies,  with  hands  as  white  and  delicate  as  used  to 
be  seen  in  that  same  tower  in  the  golden  days  of  Queen  Bess.  .1 
then  learned,  that  as  soon  as  I  had  entered  rny  name  on  the  book 
in  the  guard-house,  (a  thing  required  of  all  strangers,)  the  alarm 
was  given,  that  the  New-York  seedsman  and  Laurie  Todd  were 
in  the  tower.  They  beat,  not  to  arms  however  ;  but  the  garrison 
was  mostly  turned  out. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  55 

glish  Lord  Chancellor,  who,  flaming  with  love  and  zeal 
for  the  name  of  miscalled  religion,  insisted  that  the 
lieutenants  of  the  tower  should  tighten  the  rack  yet 
more,  on  which  the  tender  limbs  of  the  beautiful  Anne 
Askew  were  agonizing,  and  on  the  lieutenants'  refusal 
to  do  so,  actually  doing  it  himself.  This  savage  was  a 
refined  English  gentleman,  Mrs.  Trollope. 

The  space  between  the  gates  and  the  moat  is  ex- 
tremely gloomy,  and  has  struck  a  chill  upon  the  heart 
of  many  a  state-prisoner,  as  he  was  conducted  across 
its  narrow  road.  It  is  here  that  the  mind  becomes 
impressed  with  the  aspect  of  the  place,  to  a  degree  of 
melancholy  ;  the  black  dilapidated  byeward  tower,  and 
the  drawbridge  ;  the  antique-looking  yeoman  at  the 
gate,  the  bloody  tower,  the  portcullis  which  points 
down  its  sharp  terminations,  threatening  the  assailant ; 
and  the  gates  of  oak,  studded  with  iron,  and  crumbling 
to  decay — are  yet  perfect  enough  to  show  the  precau- 
tions by  which,  in  former  times,  they  sought  to  render 
their  fortresses  impregnable.  On  the  other  side  is  the 
gate,  under  which  the  prisoners  were  conveyed  by  wa- 
ter to  their  dungeons  immediately  under  the  river.  It 
was  on  that  gate  that  the  heads  of  persons  put  to  death 
were  exhibited  on  stakes,  after  pickling  to  preserve 
them  as  long  as  possible  from  the  action  of  the  weather, 
according  to  the  barbarous  manners  of  the  times.  It 
was  under  that  gate,  that  Queen  Elizabeth  entered 
a  prisoner ;  and  while  entering,  exclaimed,  "  here 
landeth  as  true  a  subject,  being  a  prisoner,  as  ever  landed 
on  these  stairs,  and  before  God  I  speak  it." 

One  of  the  most  painfully  interesting  sights  in  the 
fortress,  is  the  room  that  is  called  the  Beaucamp 
Tower,  where  many  illustrious  prisoners  were  con- 
fined;  and  the  sad  inscriptions  it  contained  on  the 


66  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

walls,  "  Jane,"  supposed  to  be  Jane  Grey,  was  visi- 
ble, but  destroyed  in  altering  a  window;  numerous 
scrawls  still  remain  legible. 

In  the  chapel  are  interred  many  of  the  sufferers  from 
regal  vengeance ;  among  them  Anna  Boleyn,  whose 
beautiful  eyes,  as  she  turned  them  on  the  executioner, 
so  affected  him,  he  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
stratagem  to  strike  the  fatal  blow.  Her  body  was 
flung  into  an  old  arrow  case  and  interred,  while  her 
execrable  husband  awaited  impatiently  at  Richmond, 
a  short  distance  from  London,  the  sound  of  the  guns 
that  told  him  of  her  execution.  The  appeal  of  Anna 
Boleyn  to  heaven  on  her  being  sentenced  to  die,  is 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  on  record.  "  O,  Father  ! 
O,  Creator  !  thou  who  art  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the 
life :  thou  knowest  that  I  have  not  deserved  this 
death." 

While  I  held  in  one  hand  the  axe  which  severed  the 
head  from  her  body  ;  and  in  the  other  the  following 
pathetic  letter,  which  she  wrote  in  the  room  in  which  I 
stood,  to  try  to  move  to  pity  the  heart  of  that  brute  in 
human  shape,  Henry  the  Eighth,  her  husband,  I  won- 
dered where  then  had  slept  the  thunder-bolts  of  heaven, 
that  the  monster  was  not  blasted  from  the  earth.  I 
said  to  the  warden,  where  now  was  your  Knight  Tem- 
plars, heroes  sworn  to  protect  the  innocent  ?  Cowardly 
slaves  !  the  fear  of  a  single  tyrant  made  them  stand  and 
assent  to  the  murder  of  his  innocent  queen.  Mrs.  Trol- 
lope,  this  king  and  these  mighty  champions  were  some 
of  your  refined  English  gentlemen. 


THORBTJRN'S  JOURNAL.  57 


The  Letter. 

SIR — Your  grace's  displeasure  and  my  imprisonment 
are  things  so  strange  to  me,  as  what  to  write  or  what 
to  excuse,  I  am  altogether  ignorant.  Whereas  you 
send  to  me  (willing  me  to  confess  a  truth,  and  to  ob- 
tain your  favour)  by  such  a  one,  whom  you  know  to 
be  my  professed  enemy — I  no  sooner  received  this 
message  by  him,  than  I  rightly  conceived  your  mean- 
ing. And  if,  as  you  say,  confessing  a  truth  indeed  may 
procure  my  safety,  I  shall,  with  all  willingness  and  duty, 
perform  your  command. 

But  let  not  your  grace  ever  imagine,  that  your  poor 
wife  will  ever  be  brought  to  acknowledge  a  fault,  where 
not  so  much  as  a  thought  thereof  ever  presided.  And 
to  speak  a  truth,  never  prince  had  wife  more  loyal  in 
all  duty  and  in  all  true  affection,  than  you  have  ever 
found  in  Anna  Boleyn  ;  with  which  name  and  place  I 
could  willingly  have  contented  myself,  if  God  and  your 
grace's  pleasure  had  been  so  pleased.  Neither  did  I 
at  any  time  so  far  forget  myself  in  my  exalted  station, 
or  received  queenship,  but  that  I  always  looked  for 
such  an  alteration  as  I  now  find ;  for  the  ground  of  my 
preferment  being  on  no  surer  foundation  than  your 
grace's  fancy,  the  least  alteration  I  knew  was  fit  and 
sufficient  to  draw  that  fancy  to  some  other  object. 

You  have  chosen  me  from  a  low  estate  to  be  your 
queen  and  companion,  far  beyond  my  desert  or  desire  ;  if 
then  you  hare  found  me  worthy  of  such  honour — it  is 
well.  But  let  not  alight  fancy  or  bad  counsel  of  mine  ene- 
mies withdraw  your  princely  favour  from  me  ;  neither 
let  that  stain,  that  unworthy  stain  of  a  disloyal  heart 
towards  your  good  grace,  ever  cast  so  foul  a  blot  on 


58  THORBTJRN'S  JOURNAL. 

your  most  dutiful  wife,  and  the  infant  princess  your 
daughter. 

Try  me,  good  king ;  but  let  me  have  a  lawful  trial, 
and  let  not  mine  sworn  enemies  sit  as  my  accusers  and 
judges.  Yea,  let  me  receive  an  open  trial,  (for  my 
truth  shall  fear  no  open  shame,)  then  shall  you  see 
mine  innocence  cleared,  your  conscience  satisfied,  the 
ignominy  and  slander  of  the  world  stopped,  or  my 
guilt  openly  declared.  So,  whatever  God  or  your  grace 
may  determine  of  me,  your  grace  may  be  freed  from 
open  censure ;  and  mine  offence  being  so  lawfully  proved, 
your  grace  is  at  liberty,  both  before  God  and  man,  not 
only  to  execute  worthy  punishment  on  me  as  an  un- 
faithful wife,  but  to  follow  your  affection  already  set- 
tled on  that  party  for  whose  sake  I  am  now  as  I  am  ; 
and  whose  name  I  could  some  good  while  since  have 
pointed  unto  your  grace,  not  being  ignorant  of  my 
suspicion  therein. 

But  if  you  have  already  determined  of  me,  and  that 
not  only  my  death,  but  an  infamous  slander  must  bring 
you  the  enjoyment  of  your  desired  happiness,  then  I 
desire  of  God  that  he  will  pardon  your  great  sin  there- 
in; and  likewise  mine  enemies,  the  instruments  thereof. 
That  he  will  not  call  you  to  a  strict  account  for  your 
unprincely  and  cruel  usage  of  me  at  his  general  judg- 
ment seat,  where  both  you  and  myself  must  shortly 
appear ;  and  in  whose  judgment  I  doubt  not,  whatsoever 
the  world  may  think  of  me,  mine  innocence  shall  be 
openly  known  and  sufficiently  cleared. 

My  last  and  only  request  shall  be,  that  myself  may 
only  bear  the  burthen  of  your  grace's  displeasure,  and 
that  it  may  not  touch  the  innocent  souls  of  those  poor 
gentlemen,  who,  as  I  understand,  are  likewise  in  strait 
imprisonment  for  my  sake.  If  ever  I  have  found  fa* 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  59 

vour  in  your  sight ;  if  ever  the  name  of  Anna  Boleyn 
hath  been  pleasing  in  your  ears,  then  let  me  obtain  this 
request,  and  I  will  so  leave  to  trouble  your  grace  any 
further ;  with  earnest  prayers  to  the  Trinity  to  have  your 
grace  in  good  keeping,  and  to  direct  you  in  all  your 
actions. 

From  my  doleful  prison  in  the  tower,  this  6th  day 
of  May,  1536.  Your  Most  Loyal  and 

ever  Faithful  Wife, 
ANNA  BOLEYN. 

This  letter  was  written  with  a  view,  if  possible,  to 
soften  the  obdurate  heart  of  her  husband.  It  had  not 
the  desired  effect,  neither  was  her  last  request  granted. 
Execrable  villain ! 

This  English  bastile  was  begun  to  be  erected  in  the 
year  1076.  The  French  bastiles  were  built  about  the  same 
time.  We  may  be  thankful  that  the  soil  of  America 
has  not  yet  been  cursed  with  these  engines  of  tyranny, 
nor  with  the  wretches  that  used  them.  Were  proof 
wanting  to  establish  the  doctrine  of  a  general  judgment, 
the  fact  that  the  Henrys  in  England,  and  Louises  in 
France,  once  cursed  the  earth,  would  be  proof  sufficient. 
On  the  whole,  melancholy  was  my  predominant  feeling 
while  in  the  tower,  when  reflecting  that  I  was  treading 
over  the  lifeless  trunks  of  (perhaps)  thousands,  whose 
heads  were  exposed  on  tower  gates  and  temple  bar, 
to  be  wasted  by  the  winds  and  picked  by  the  ravens,  to 
glut  the  bloody  appetite  of  these  savage  kings. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Sir  A.  C , — Sign  Boards,  fyc. 

IN  London  you  may  reside  for  years  and  know  but 
little  of  the  city  ;  the  only  true  view  of  London  is  to  be 
seen  in  the  colosseum,  round  whose  walls  is  hung  a 
panoramic  painting,  which  occupies  40,000  square  feet 
of  canvass,  or  nearly  one  acre.  Here  you  may  see 
London,  with  twenty  miles  of  country  around,  as  true  as 
nature  itself.  But  the  city  is  so  constantly  shaded  by 
smoke,  particularly  in  winter,  that  you  can  neither  see 
sun,  moon,  nor  stars,  for  many  days.  The  people  are 
not  quite  so  social  here  as  in  Edinburgh.  There  is  a 
certain  consequential  carriage  about  an  Englishman 
wherever  he  goes,  that  he  seems  to  think  there's  nane 
like  'em.  The  following  is  an  instance : 

A  Muckle  Man,  and  a  We>e  Head. 

Sir  A.  C left  his  card  at  the  house  of  my  friend 

where  I  lodged,  with  a  pressing  request  that  I  would 
call  at  12  M.  next  day  at  his  house,  as  he  wished 
me  to  transact  a  piece  of  particular  business  for  him  on 
my  arrival  in  America.  Within  a  minute  of  the  time  I 


THORBTJRN'S  JOURNAL.  61 

was  at  the  door ;  it  was  a  rainy  day,  and  I  had  walked 
a  mile.  I  rang  the  bell — the  door  was  opened  by  a  ser- 
vant in  livery.  "Is  Sir  Andrew  within?"  "He  is." 
"  Can  I  see  him  ?"  He  looked  at  my  hat  and  surtout. 
I  ever  make  it  a  point  to  put  on  my  worst  coat  in  rainy 
weather.  This  coat  I  had  worn  on  ship-board,  and 
from  Liverpool  to  London,  and  from  London  to  Edin- 
burgh, &c.,  travelling  night  and  day  nearly  four  months  : 
but  you  will  observe,  I  always  travel  inside, — a  man 
who  is  careful  of  his  coat  will  never  be  careless  of  his 
person.  By-the-by,  most  travellers  ride  outside  in  Bri- 
tain. A  stage  will  carry  eighteen  passengers,  but  there 
is  room  only  for  four  inside.  I  think  that  in  taking 
care  of  the  person  consists  one  of  the  most  essential 
points  of  economy.  To  establish  this  proposition,  (as 
Maxwell  and  Price  would  say  at  the  Hall,)  I  will  relate 
an  anecdote,  or  circumstance,  or  what  you  please. 
N.  B.  When  travelling  in  Britain,  always  secure  your 
ticket  the  day  previous  to  starting,  if  you  wish  to  occupy 
an  inside  seat.  But  to  return — On  the  10th  of  December, 
I  think,  at  3  o'clock  P.  M.,  I  stepped  into  the  coach  for 
Liverpool.  There  were  two  ladies  and  myself;  the 
fourth  seat  was  not  engaged.  We  drove  from  Cockspur- 
street,  and  stopped  at  St.  Paul's  to  take  on  some  pack- 
ages of  merchandise.  While  thus  engaged,  a  gentle- 
man pops  in  his  head — "  Any  room  within  ?"  "  By  my 
side,  sir,  there  is  enough,  as  you  are  not  very  large,  no 
more  than  myself."  (It  was  now  dark,  and  just  com- 
menced raining.)  In  a  moment  he  was  at  my  side* 
highly  pleased  with  his  seat,  and  having  a  partner  who 
would  not  squeeze  him  to  death,  as  he  said  had  like  to 
have  happened  to  him  the  night  previous,  riding  all 
night  with  a  two  legged  animal  weighing  above  two 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  he  presumed.  When  this 

6 


62  THORBUR  N'S  JOURNAL. 

same  gentleman  was  letting  down  the  steps,  the  younger 
of  the  ladies,  who  sat  on  the  back  seat,  exclaims  "  Oh, 
my  husband  !"  "  Where  is  he,  ma'am  ?"  "  On  the  top 
of  the  coach."  "  And  why  was  he  not  by  your  side  ?" 
"  I  told  him  so,  and  that  it  would  rain.  He  said  he  would 
ride  to  the  first  change  of  horses,  (eight  miles)  and  as  it 
was  not  likely  the  seats  would  be  filled,  he  would  then 
come  in  at  under  price."  "  I  presume  your  husband 
is  no  stranger  to  the  road  ?"  "  He  has  travelled  much," 
says  she.  "Then,"  says  t,  he  ought  to  have  known 
better ;  but,  says  I,  ma'am,  though  we  are  commanded 
to  love  our  neighbor  as  ourselves,  (not  better  ;)  yet  were 
you  on  the  top  on  such  a  night,  I  would  give  you  my 
seat,  and  put  up  at  the  first  stage  till  morning  ;  and  I 
advise  you  to  ask  your  husband  to  stop  till  this  time  to- 
morrow, when  the  same  stage  will  stop  and  take  you 
on  without  any  additional  expense."  She  made  the  pro- 
position ;  he  would  not  comply.  As  the  rain  descended, 
the  wind  blew,  and  the  hail  beat  against  the  side  and 
glass  of  the  carriage,  she  still  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  my  hus- 
band !"  The  elderly  lady  said  little  ;  my  friend  by  my 
side  speaks  out  to  mend  the  matter.  Says  he,  I  started 
from  the  Crown  and  Anchor,  about  the  same  hour,  a 
twelvemonth  ago.  It  was  a  fine  evening.  I  thought 
I  might  save  a  half  guinea  by  taking  the  top.— 
About  an  hour  after  starting  it  commenced  raining, 
and  never  stopped  till  I  got  into  Liverpool.  I  took  sick 
next  morning — was  not  out  of  doors  for  ten  weeks.  I 
feel  the  effects  of  it  now,  besides  paying  the  doctor  forty 
guineas.  Again  she  exclaims,  "  Oh,  my  husband  /"  We 
rode  in  profound  darkness  from  4  P.  M.  to  8  A.  M., 
when  we  stopped  for  breakfast.  Every  time  we  stop- 
ped through  the  night,  which  was  almost  every  hour  to 
change  horses,  she  still  called  him  to  the  window — "Are 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  63 

you  cold?  Are  you  wet?  Go  into  the  hotel  and  get 
some  warm  drink,"  &c.  Indeed,  there  was  so  much  ho- 
ney mixed  with  these  coach-window  lectures,  that  I  be- 
gan to  think  it  must  be  the  second  week  of  the  new 
moon.  At  breakfast,  the  husband  was  so  hoarse  that 
he  could  speak  only  with  difficulty.  At  9  A.  M.,  the 
sun  shone  out  bright ;  we  could  now  see  one  another, 
and  the  world  around  us.  Before  two  hours,  we  were 
well  acquainted.  The  young  lady  had  been  to  London,  a 
journey  of  fifty  miles,  just  to  get  married  in  St.  Mary's 
Church,  because  she  had  been  christened  there,  and  was 
now  gane  ba'k  again.  The  other  lady  seemed  to  be 
about  thirty-five.  I  presumed  she  must  have  been  chris- 
tened, but  not  married,  as  her  card  denoted  Miss  B , 

of  B .     The  gentleman  on  my  right  was  a  Mr.  R., 

a  merchant  from  Liverpool.    I  afterwards  paid  him  a 

visit.     Miss  B seemed  a  lady  in  every  sense  of 

the  word — spoke  little,  but  much  to  the  purpose — had 
plenty  of  money,  which  she  paid  away  in  profusion 
to  the  book-pedlars,  ginger-bread  and  pie-pedlars,  beg- 
gars and  children,  that  beset  our  carriage  wherever  we 
stopped. 

Mr.  R.  and  I  had  just  finished  a  three  miles  conver- 
sation. "While  we  spoke  she  seemed  all  attention.  We 
stopped  for  a  minute.  Pray,  sir,  says  she,  (looking  in 
my  face,)  did  you  ever  read  any  of  John  Gait's  novels  ? 
I  have,  rnadam,  says  I.  Did  you  ever,  says  she,  read 
Laurie  Todd  ?  Yes,  madam  ;  and  have  you,  madam, 
says  I  read  that  book  ?  I  have,  says  she  ;  and  if  I  mis- 
take not,  1  see  before  me  the  hero  of  the  tale.  As  I  said 
nothing  to  the  contrary,  she  held  out  her  hand.  Most 
willingly,  says  she,  would  I  have  travelled  a  hundred 
miles  from  my  road  for  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you. 
We  then  exchanged  cards  and  compliments  in  abun- 


64  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

dance.  In  four  hours  we  stopped  at  the  SaraceiUs  Head, 
in  Liverpool,  where  we  parted  to  meet  no  more  in  this 
world.  This,  too,  is  one  of  the  miseries  of  travelling. 
We  frequently  make  friends  in  the  stage,  steamboat,  or 
by  the  way,  just  enough  to  feel  the  pain  of  parting.  But 
I  have  nearly  forgotten  Sir  Andrew,  with  whose  story 
I  set  out.  The  man  glanced  again  at  my  worst  coat. 
"  Shall  I  tell  him  your  business  ?"  Tell  him  my  busi- 
ness is  with  him.  The  parlor  door  stood  open  before  me — 
no  person  there — a  large  coal  fire  blazing.  I  heard  no  stir 
nor  symptom  of  return  from  down  stairs.  I  pulled  off 
my  surtout  and  hat,  hung  them  on  a  chair  in  the  passage, 
wiped  well  my  booted  feet  on  a  large  rug,  stepped  in 
the  parlor,  lifted  a  book  from  the  table,  and  sat  down  by 
the  fire.  The  servant  enters  with  abroad  stare,  on  see- 
ing me  calmly  perusing  a  book  by  the  fire.  Sir  Andrew 
will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes,  says  he.  No  hurry,  says  I. 
In  all  this  I  thought  not  at  the  time,  nor  do  I  think  now, 
that  I  was  violating  any  of  the  standard  principles  of 
common  decency,  sense  or  politeness.  I  knew  Sir  An- 
drew was  the  party  to  be  obliged.  I  had  walked  a  mile 
through  the  rain,  on  pavements  trod  by  millions,  till  the 
mud  gets  as  tough  as  bird-lime,  so  that  when  you  take 
one  step  forward,  you  frequently  slide  two  back.  So  I  did 
not  feel  quite  like  a  pauper  to  be  coolly  treated  by  one 
of  his  menials. 

In  about  ten  minutes  more,  a  door  opened  in  the  far 
end  of  the  parlor,  and  in  stalks  a  tall,  emaciated,  lank- 
looking  figure.  He  appeared  like  a  very  tenant  of  mor- 
tality, just  prematurely  awoke  from  a  midnight  and  ear- 
ly morning  debauch.  Presuming  it  was  he,  I  arose,  lays 
the  book  on  the  table,  and  walks  towards  him.  Says  I, 

I  presume  this  is  Mr.  C ;  Sir  Andrew  C , 

if  you  please.     Says  I,  sir,  I  stand  corrected;  I  know  as 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  65 

well  as  any  man  how  to  respect  worth  and  greatness, 
where  I  find  them  combined ;  but  I  have  sojourned  forty 
years  in  a  country  where  titles  are  not  rife,  and  though 
I  mean  no  disrespect,  yet  I  find  it  very  unhandy  to  make 
my  tongue  twist  to  your  sir  concerns  here.  Then,  says 

he,  I  am  speaking  with  Mr.  T ,  I  suppose  ;  my  name 

is  T ,  says  I.     He  began  to  apologize  for  detaining 

me  so  long  and  for  his  abrupt  salutation.  Says  he,  you 
ought  to  have  sent  in  your  name.  I  know  it,  sir;  but  I 
like  to  amuse  myself  now  and  then  with  your  foibles. 
They  are  only  foibles,  says  he  ;  but,  says  I,  I  wonder  a 
man  of  your  talent  and  acquirements  would  snap  so 
quick  at  a  small  slip  of  your  title  from  a  stranger.  Says 
he,  you  caught  me  off  guard  this  morning;  my  head  is 
muddy.  "We  shook  hands,  went  to  business,  and  part- 
ed the  best  of  friends.  He  presented  me  with  two  of 
his  last  publications.  Last  week  I  executed  the  com- 
mission he  put  in  my  hand,  and  I  think  it  will  be 
much  to  his  satisfaction.  This  agreeable,  though  rather 

vain  gentleman,  is  no  less  a  personage  than  S to 

his  majesty. 

N.  B.  In  a  part  above,  I  speak  of  ladies  riding  outside 
of  the  stage.  It  is  a  very  common  occurrence. 

In  London,  one  day  in  November,  it  was  so  very  dark 
that  I  got  shaved  by  gas  light  at  11  A.  M.  I  was  much 
amused  in  reading  the  inscriptions  on  the  sign  boards; 
one  was  coat  maker,  hat  maker,  boot  or  spur  maker  for 
his  majesty.  Another,  frock  maker,  cape  maker,  corset 
or  glove  maker  for  her  majesty.  Thousands  are  licensed 
to  sell  tea,  sugar  and  coffee,  provisions,  snuff  and  to- 
bacco, porter  and  pies;  and  I  saw  on  the  sign  board  of 
one  man,  licensed  to  sell  hay  and  straw.  On  the  front 
of  a  three  story  building  in  large  letters,  reaching  from 
top  to  bottom,  I  observed  the  following : — 
6* 


66  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Sight  restored, 

and  Head-ache  cured, 

by  Grindstone's 

celebrated 
Eye  Snuff, — sold  here. 

I  thought  there  was  something  sounded  so  hard  and 
gritty  about  curing  eyes  by  a  grindstone,  that  I  smiled 
by  myself.  On  some  of  the  church  doors  is  a  board, 
in  large  letters  : — Attendance  given  here  every  day  at  2 
o'cZoeA:,  to  church  women  and  christen  children.  On 
others — for  funerals  and  marriages,  inquire  of  the 
sexton,  No.  45  Threadneedle-street,  or  wherever  it  may 
be.  These  sign-boards  made  the  chui'ch  look  so  much 
like  a  house  of  merchandise — at  least  so  it  appeared  to 
me. 

There  is  Amen-street,  crossed  by  Paternoster  Row, 
which  makes  corner  of  Paternoster  and  Amen. 

In  London,  Edinburgh,  Liverpool,  Glasgow,  and 
elsewhere,  I  had  the  pleasure  of  conversing  with  some, 
and  not  a  few  either,  of  the  best  men  of  the  age — great 
fighters,  great  racers,  great  duelists,  and  great  play- 
actors. Small  as  I  am,  I  look  down  on  them.  But  great 
preachers,  great  physicians,  great  surgeons,  and  great 
teachers  of  any  science,  I  think  are  the  true  friends  of 
man. 

But,  in  my  opinion,  the  most  extraordinary  man  in 
our  age  is  J.  C.  Loudon,  F.  L.  S.  H.  S.,  &c.,  of  London. 
His  hands  are  lame,  so  that  he  is  unable  to  carve  his 
food  or  wield  a  pen ;  yet  he  has  sent  forth,  and  continues 
to  send  forth  to  the  world,  more  books  than  any  one  who 
lives,  or  has  lived,  perhaps  since  the  days  of  Shakepeare. 
Hi»  Encyclopedias  of  gardening,  of  plants,  and  of  agri- 
culture alone,  one  would  think,  when  he  looks  o» 
them,  are  more  than  sufficient  for  the  labours  of  the 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  67 

longest  life.  He  also  publishes,  periodically,  the  Gar- 
dener's Magazine,  and  another  entitled  Cottage  Archi- 
tecture, &c.  But  when  God  withheld  from  him  the 
use  of  his  fingers,  he  more  than  restored  them  in  the 
person  of  his  wife — he  indites  and  she  writes.  (I  thought 
of  Miltqn  and  his  daughter.)  She  is  a  woman  of  strong 
mind,  as  well  as  a  ready  pen.  They  have  only  one 
child,  (a  girl,)  so  this  excellent  woman  is  able  to  devote 
her  whole  time  to  her  husband.  He  is  a  Scotchman,  a 
man  of  strong  mother  wit,  and  a  clear  head. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Liverpool — its  Wharves,  Trade  and  Shipping — new 
Cemetery — Huskisson's  Death — Monument — Mourn- 
ing Widew — Psalm-singing  Beggars — Prince 
Rupert's  Cottage,  fyc. 

"  [t  is  better  to  go  to  the  house  of  mourning  than  to  the  house 
of  feasting;  for  that  is  the  end  of  all  men — and  the  living  will 
lay  it  to  his  heart." — Eccls. 

LIVERPOOL  is  not  quite  as  large  as  New-York;  but  it  is 
probable  there  is  more  capital  and  business  there.  Nature 
has  done  but  little  for  them;  but,  to  a  large  extent,  they 
have  remedied  this  defect  by  art.  At  low  water  the 
river  Mersey  makes  a  very  poor  appearance;  but  their 
substantial  stone  docks,  spacious  ware-houses,  and  the 
wharves  shut  up  at  night  with  walls  and  gates,  guarded 
by  the  police,  and  no  fire  allowed  on  board  the  ship- 
ping, form  altogether  such  an  appearance  of  comfort 
and  security  to  the  merchant's  and  their  property,  as 
perhaps  the  like  is  nowhere  else  to  be  found. 

The  new  cemetery  at  Liverpool  is  the  site  of  an  old 
stone  quarry.  You  descend  from  the  top  of  the  rock 
by  a  winding  path  to  the  level  bottom,  a  distance  of 
nearly  one  hundred  feet.  I  should  think,  from  its  ap- 
pearance, that  the  place  of  burial  occupies  nearly  one 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  69 

mile  square.  As  you  look  down  on  the  humble  graves 
and  splendid  monuments  below,  it  looks  most  solemnly 
imposing,  and  awfully  grand,  as  if  presenting  to  the 
mind  a  view  of  the  valley  of  the  shaddow  of  death.  I 
saw  six  sextons  at  work  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth. — 
They  stood  up  to  the  neck,  and  were  digging  yet  deep- 
er the  houses  appointed  for  all  the  living.  With  the 
dark,  damp  wall  of  rocks  all  around,  the  black  iron 
doors  of  the  graves,  and  the  caves  cut  out  of  the  rocks, 
make  it  look  like  the  very  land  of  forgetfulness  itself. 

Here  is  deposited  the  remains  of  the  great  Mr.  Hus- 
kisson.  They  are  just  about  erecting  a  splendid  monument 
to  his  memory,  this  day,  December  18,  1833.  The 
workmen  have  laid  bare  the  iron  chest  which  contains 
his  bones,  preparatory  to  laying  the  foundation.  The 
sight  of  his  premature  grave  was  fraught  with  solemn 
reflections  and  admonitions  of  instruction.  At  the  time 
of  his  sudden  death,  he  was  perhaps  the  most  popular 
man  in  England.  He  had  been  active  in  promoting 
the  erection  of  the  Manchester  Rail-road.  On  the  day 
of  its  completion,  and  amid  the  shouts  of  the  assembled 
thousands,  he  was  summoned,  as  in  a  moment,  from 
time  to  eternity. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  was  present.  The  duke 
and  he  had  a  difference  some  time  previous,  and  the 
duke  had  him  removed  from  the  councils  of  the  nation. 
They  had  not  spoke  for  some  time.  Now  there  he 
stood  in  the  proud  consciousness  of  a  public  benefactor, 
watching  the  eyes  of  Wellington  as  they  scanned  the 
vast  assembly,  and  saying  as  it  were  in  his  heart,  these 
are  my  strength — you  now  see  where  my  hope  lies. — 
At  this  moment  the  duke  and  he  in  appearance  were 
made  friends.  They  had  just  shaken  hands ;  the  people 
were  shouting  long  live  Huskisson,  the  friend  of 


70  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

man.  The  duke  and  he  were  in  earnest  conversation, 
and  there  was  but  a  step  between  him  and  death — for 
there  stood  Death,  paying  no  respect  to  the  noise  of  the 
people,  or  pride  of  the  parties,  his  head  bent,  earnestly 
engaged  in  fitting  the  arrow  to  the  bow-string.  He 
slowly  stands  erect,  takes  aim  for  a  moment — it  touches 
the  vitals,  and  a  great  man  has  fallen  in  Israel  that  day. 

It  appears  by  some  accident  that  can  hardly  be  ac- 
counted for,  that  one  of  those  cars  of  his  glory  passed 
over  his  person,  and  before  the  morning's  sun,  all  that 
remained  of  this  great,  (and  from  all  I  can  learn,)  good 
man,  was  but  a  heap  of  dust.  While  I  stood  with  my 
hand  on  the  cold  iron  coffin  which  held  that  head,  that 
only  a  day  before  contained  projects  and  plans,  which 
the  life  of  Methuselah  was  too  short  to  see  executed,  I 
thought  how  small  and  vain  is  man,  and  yet  Thou  art 
mindful  of  him. 

There,  too,  I  saw  the  new  made  widow.  She  led 
in  each  hand  a  tender  pledge  of  love.  She  stopped  by 
the  grave  of  her  husband.  As  I  approached  she  was 
cropping  the  yellow  leaves  from  two  handsome  monthly 
rose-bushes,  which  stood  one  at  the  head  and  the  other 
at  the  foot  of  his  grave.  At  the  sound  of  my  foot  she  gave 
a  start,  and  turned  her  lovely  eyes  still  floating  in  tears. 
Being  afraid  to  intrude  on  her  sacred  sorrow,  I  hastily 
followed  an  opposite  path,  and  took  my  stand  where 
I  could  see  without  being  seen.  She  continued  dressing 
the  stock  and  the  wall-flower  which  grew  on  its  sides, 
while  the  burning  tears  dropped  fast  and  thick  on  the 
cold  sod  which  covered  that  breast  to  which  but  lately 
she  was  fondly  pressed.  She  spoke  to  her  children — 
no  doubt  telling  them  of  their  father,  of  whom,  from 
their  age,  they  could  have  known  but  little.  With  slow 
and  steady  step  she  left  the  grave,  her  children  going 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  71 

before.  Her  countenance,  contrasted  with  the  mourning 
weeds,  looked  as  white  as  the  muslin  cloth  which  she 
oft  applied  to  her  moistened  cheeks.  I  followed  them 
with  my  eyes  until  they  crossed  the  garden*  gate. 
Then  I  prayed  in  my  heart  that  the  Father  of  the  father- 
less, and  the  Judge  of  the  widow,  would  send  them  help 
from  his  Holy  Temple. 

Many  of  those  chambers  of  death  are  dug  out  from 
the  straight  wall  of  the  solid  rock.  They  are  shut  up 
with  an  iron  door,  and  generally  there  is  a  white  marble 
slab  with  black  letters  surmounting  the  door,  to  denote 
to  whom  it  belongs.  On  one  of  these  modest  looking 
stones  was  the  following  inscription :  To  the  memory 

of  John ,  aged  22  years,  who  died  at  sea,  March, 

1830;  and  Sarah ,  aged  18  years,  4  months  and 

25  days,  who  died  September,  1830 — the  only  children 
of  their  mother,  and  she  is  a  WIDOW.  The  affecting  tale 
detained  me  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  A  respectable 
gentleman,  advanced  in  years,  came  slowly  pacingalong. 
He  looked  like  one  who  lived  among  the  tombs,  and  I 
could  read  in  his  face  that  he  was  one  who  would  not 
return  an  uncivil  answer  to  a  question  civilly  asked. — 
Says  I,  "  sir,  if  you  can,  will  you  please  to  tell  me  aught 
about  this  melancholy  tale."  Says  he,  "  Sir,  the  widow 
is  my  neighbour.  I  knew  the  manly  boy  and  lovely 
girl  since  they  were  children.  One  of  those  beings  in 
the  shape  of  a  man,  who  dangle  about  houses  where  there 


*  Among  the  Jews,  the  place  of  burial  was  termed  a  garden, 
and  the  sexton  a  gardener.  See  John  xx.  and  xv.  And  the  yards 
in  many  parts  of  Britain  look  like  a  garden,  as  most  of  the  graves 
are  planted  with  flowers.  I  saw  among  them,  in  the  month  of 
January,  the  lauristinus,  the  rose,  the  stock,  and  the  wall-flower, 
in  full  bloom. 


72  THORBTTRN'S  JOURNAL. 

are  young  women,  and  when  asked  (perhaps  after  some 
years  of  dancing  attendance)  what  is  their  intentions, 
will  very  coolly  reply,  why  they  meant  nothing  but 
merely  to  spend  time.  Well,  it  was  one  of  those  de- 
spisable  blanks  in  creation  who  frequented  the  widow's 
house  till  he  gained  the  affections  of  the  daughter,  when 
he  suddenly  left  her,  and  shortly  after  was  married  to 
another.  From  that  day  she  drooped,  and  ere  six 
moons  had  waned,  her  corpse  was  consigned  to  this 
narrow  house.  The  widow  is  supported  by  a  small  an- 
nuity left  by  her  husband.  Her  spirit  is  kept  up  by 
the  consolations  of  her  Bible,  and  the  hope  of  joining 
her  friends  in  another  and  a  better  world."  These 
meditations  among  the  tombs  took  place  in  a  gray, 
calm,  sober-looking  afternoon,  when  the  days  were 
at  the  shortest;  and  at  this  season  in  England, 
the  sky  looks  gloomy  indeed.  I  walked  out  of  that 
place  of  sculls,  wishing  in  my  heart  that  all  the  fortune 
hunters,  office  hunters,  pleasure  hunters,  and  fox  hun- 
ters, would  turn  aside  for  an  hour  and  see  this  great 
sight.  Well  might  it  cool  the  ardour  of  an  office  hun- 
ter, for  here  lays  Huskisson,  cut  down  in  all  his 
flower  and  prime.  Our  men  of  morality  too  might 
heie  learn  a  lesson.  They  will  talk  all  the  year  about 
righteousness,  temperance,  and  judgment  to  come,  and 
in  election  week  encourage  every  sort  of  wickedness 
with  greediness.  These  men,  to  be  sure,  will  not  get 
drunk — may  be  they  will  not  swear  ;  but  they  will  tell  a 
few  lies.  Many  of  these  temperance  society  men  think 
there  is  no  harm  in  telling  lies  in  election  week  ;  and 
though  they  do  not  get  drunk  themselves,  yet  they  giv«x 
their  money  to  the  tavern  keeper,  with  orders  to  make 
as  many  drunk  as  they  can,  and  being  that  it  is  election 
week,  they  think  there  is  no  harm  in  it.  In  short  these 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  73 

moralist's  care  not ;  if  they  only  vote  their  ticket,  they 
may  get  drunk  and  go  to  hell  for  all  they  care.  This, 
by-the-by,  is  another  instance  of  the  beautiful  simplicity 
of  our  republican  government.  But  to  return  to  Li- 
verpool. As  I  write,  there  is  now  passing  my  window, 
in  a  very  public  street,  a  poor  man  and  woman  ;  the 
man  holds  in  his  arms  a  child  apparently  about  four 
months  old — two  other  children  are  walking  by  their 
side.  They  are  all  four  singing,  to  very  good  time, 
some  sort  of  a  hymn,  to  the  tune  of  old  hundred.  I 
thought  this  was  refinement  in  beggary. 

Everton,  in  my  opinion,  is  the  prettiest  little  town 
in  England  ;  it  stands  on  a  hill  adjoining  to,  and  com- 
pletely overlooks  Liverpool.  Here  you  have  a  view 
of  the  country  all  around,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  reach. 
The  beacon  on  the  summit,  was  built  in  the  year  1220, 
by  Runulph  Blunderville,  then  Earl  of  Chester. 

Prince  Rupert's  Cottage,  so  called,  from  having  been 
the  head  quarters  of  that  prince  in  the  year  1644,  while 
he  was  laying  siege  to  Liverpool.  It  is  a  long,  low, 
rectangular  shaped  edifice,  about  five  yards  in  width, 
and  twenty  yards  in  length  ;  the  whole  exterior  is  com- 
posed of  rude  unchiseled  stone,  cemented  together  with 
lime-mortar.  The  whole  is  washed  over  with  white  lime ; 
the  roof  is  of  thatch  ;  the  rafters  which  support  the 
roof  are  of  oak,  bare  and  black  with  age  ;  clay  has  been 
daubed  over  the  inner  walls  instead  of  plaster;  and, 
although  the  present  occupiers  are  cleanly  people,  it 
makes  a  very  sorrowful  appearance.  The  floors  are  of 
clay,  partially  tiled  ;  it  is  built  on  a  solid  rock,  the  step* 
are  cut  in  the  rock  to  get  in  at  the  door.  It  is  now  oc- 
cupied by  a  family  of  decent  intelligent  English  cot- 
tagers ;  they  conducted  me  through  their  ancient  but 
humble  dwelling  with  much  good  nature. 

7 


74  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Here  then  I  sat  in  the  dwelling  of  a  prince  and  a 
soldier  of  fame  ;  the  roof  of  straw,  and  the  round 
branches  as  cut  from  the  tree  directly  over  my  head. 
I  fancied  I  saw  the  mailed  warriors  on  rough  benches 
surround  the  whole  wall  of  the  interior,  the  points  of 
their  spears  on  the  hard,  dry,  clay  floor,  their  hand  on 
the  hilt,  and  their  chins  resting  on  their  hands,  listen- 
ing, in  sullen  silence,  to  the  plans  of  death  and  devasta- 
tion, now  proposed  by  their  chiefs. 

Perhaps  this  cottage  at  that  day  was  as  good  and 
as  comfortable  a  dwelling  as  any  for  miles  around. 
"When  we  think  how  many  comforts,  accommodations 
and  pleasures  we  enjoy  in  our  dwellings,  in  travelling 
by  sea  and  by  land,  and  almost  in  every  thing  which 
our  fathers  knew  nothing  about  50  years  ago,  we 
ought  to  be  thankful  that  our  lives  have  fallen  to  us  in 
pleasant  times. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Enter  Scotland — Old  Castles  and  Monasteries — .Resi- 
dence and  Grave  of  Sir  Walter  Scott — Meeting1  with 
my  Father,  <$-c. 

Dec.  3,  1833. — Crossed  the  border,  and  entered 
Scotland.  An  intelligent  gentleman,  one  of  our  pas- 
sengers, as  we  passed  along,  pointed  out  many  of  the 
castles,  palaces,  monasteries  and  battle  grounds,  so  well 
described  by  Scott,  in  the  Tales  of  My  Landlord,  and 
other  works.  Visited  Abbotsford  and  Dryburgh  Abbey  ; 
the  former  the  residence,  the  latter  the  grave  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott.  So  much  has  been  written  of  late  on  this 
subject,  that  nothing  new  can  be  added. 

I  had  written  my  friends  in  Dalkeith,  nothing  extra 
preventing,  I  would  be  with  them  on  the  12th.  The 
stage  passes  within  h,alf  a  mile  of  my  father's  door ; 
the  mail-stage  passes  at  7,  the  other  at  9  P.  M.  Ex- 
pecting me  in  the  mail,  my  brother  and  sister-in-law- 
were  wailing  my  arrival.  Not  finding  me  with  the  mail, 
they  gave  me  up  for  that  night.  The  fact  is,  a  seat  in 
the  mail  costs  two  dollars  more  than  one  in  the  stage  ; 
so  I  thought  it  was  too  .much  for  the  pleasure  of  arri- 
ving two  hours  sooner. 

I  was  set  down  at  9  o'clock — procured  a  person  to 
carry  my  trunk — arrived  at  the  gate  where  my  father 


76  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

has  lived  for  half  a  century — directed  the  man  to  call 
my  brother,  but  not  to  mention  my  name,  as  I  wished 
to  try  whether  my  father  would  remember  my  voice, 
not  knowing  me  to  be  in  the  room.  (He  is  blind  with 
age.)  The  family  consists  of  my  father,  brother  and 
wife,  a  young  man  and  servant  girl.  My  brother  came 
out.  I  told  him  to  caution  the  family  not  to  mention  my 
name.  I  followed  in  a  minute.  My  father  sat  before  the 
fire,  his  arm  resting  on  a  table,  and  his  cheek  on  the 
hand.  "Is  old  Mr.  Thorburn  in  the  room  ?"  I  inquired. 
"  I  am  here,"  says  he,  "  what's  your  wish  ?"  "  When 
did  you  hear  from  your  sons  in  America  ?"  says  I. 
"We  had  a  letter  frae  Grant  the  other  day;  he  is  some 
way  aboot  Lunnun  or  Liverpool,  he  ay  rites  his  comin 
doon,  but  his  unco  lang  aboot  it"  I  found  he  did  not 
recognise  my  voice.  I  continued,  "  Don't  you  find  a 
great  loss  in  the  want  of  your  sight ;  you  used  to  read 
and  walk  so  much  ?"  "  To  be  sure  it  is  a  loss,"  says 
he  ;  "  but  how  can  an  auld  man  O  ninety-ane  expect  to 
hae  a'  his  faculties.  I  my  be  very  glad  there  is  ony  o' 
them  left.  I  can  hear  my  freends  speak  to  me  ;  I  can 
eat  my  bit  meat  ;*  my  health  is  gude,  and  I  sleep  weel  at 
night;  so  I  ought  to  be  very  thankful."  I  made  some 
other  inquiry,  when  he  says,  (beginning  to  recollect  my 
voice,)  "  but,  am  thinking  yere  Grant  himscll."  The 
rest  may  be  described,  but  cannot  be  felt. 

It  was  now  within  a  few  months  of  forty  years  since 
we  first  parted  on  that  same  spot.  At  that  time  our 
calculations  were,  that  we  would  never  meet  until  we 
met  in  eternity.  But  here  we  were,  and  in  circumstan- 
ces of  peace,  comfort,  and  plenty,  A  pleasjare^ihis, 


Meat,  in  Scotland,  means  all  sorts  of  food. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  77 

which  few  who  have  left  their  father's  house  ever  en- 
joyed in  such  perfection.  Not  many  days  after  I  sat 
down  to  dinner  with  nearly  twenty  of  my  old  school 
fellows.  We  had  then  the  days  o'  lang  syne  up  to 
nature. 

The  seat  of  the  Buccleugh  family  stands  in  a  beauti- 
ful park  at  the  foot  of  the  town  (Dalkeith)  where  my 
father  resides.  I  received  an  invitation  from,  and  spent 
a  pleasant  half  hour  with  the  duke  and  his  duchess.  He 
is  a  gentleman  of  the  most  amiable  deportment  and 
manners.  It  may  be  said  of  them,  in  truth,  that  they 
have  been  formed  after  the  same  model.  The  family 
ever  have  been  as  nursing  fathers  and  mothers  to  the 
widow,  the  orphan,  the  sick,  and  the  poor  of  the  parish'; 
and  the  present  family  follow  in  the  steps  of  their  pre- 
decessors. They  are  both  young,  neither  of  them  being 
over  twenty-live  years  of  age.  When  introduced,  the 
duke  was  engaged  in  conversation  with  two  gentlemen. 
He  joined  me  at  once,  led  me  into  an  elegant  parlour, 
where  we  were  joined  by  the  duchess  in  a  few  minutes. 
She  on  the  one  side,  I  on  the  other,  and  he  in  front  of 
the  fire.  We  conversed  of  times  and  things.  I  addressed 
them  simply,  sir  and  madam,  observing — I  hoped  they 
would  excuse  my  plainness  of  speech  ;  that  I  knew  how 
to  respect  worth,  and  especially  when  I  found  it  in  su- 
periors, (as  without  flattery  was  now  the  case  ;)  but 
being  unused  to  courtly  style,  to  attempt  it  now  would 
be  making  bad  worse.  The  duke  observed — he  hoped 
while  in  their  company  I  would  feel  as  if  at  home,  that 
he  knew  what  value  to  put  in  empty  sounds.  The 
nurses  brought  in  their  two  pretty  children.  As  de- 
scendants of  a  worthy  family,  I  kissed  them  with  my 
lips,  while  I  blessed  them  in  my  heart. 

7* 


78  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

The  duchess  thanked  me  for  the  polite  dedication 
(as  she  termed  it)  of  my  history  to  her.*  I  said  I  had 
my  doubts  of  its  politeness,  but  was  sure  of  its  sincerity. 
But,  madam,  said  I,  you  can  say  what  perhaps  no  lady 
in  Britain  can  say  about  a  dedication,  it  was  addressed 
to  you  from  the  cabin  of  the  ship  George  Washington^ 
«  

*  The  London  edition  of  my  Forty  Tears  Residence  is  dedica- 
ted to  the  duchess,  as  follows  : — 

„     To  Her  Grace 
the  Duchess  of  Buccleugh 
would  I  dedicate  this  Book,  were  I  master  of  the 

courtly  style. 

When  I  think  of  her  who  was  duchess 
fifty  years  ago,  as  I  saw  her  feeding  the  robin, 

the  sparrow,   and  the  raven, 
from  her  basket  of  crumbs,  on  the  freezing 

snows  of  a  winter's  morning. — 

As  I  saw  her  gathering  up  the  loaves  and  fishes, 

and  giving  them  to  the  poor,  that 

nothing  might  be  lost. — 

As  I  saw  her  giving  her  gold  to  the  widow, 

and  her  silver  to  the  orphan  of  the  Parish. — 

I  say,  when  I  think  on  these  things, 

the  name, 

Duchess  of  Buccleugh, 

sounds  like  music  in  mine  ear. 

That  you,  madam,  may  long  enjoy  in  this  world 

the  peace  which  passeth  all  understanding, 

and  a  mansion  in  the  skies, 
when  the  castles  and  palaces  of  earth 

will  shiver  in  the  blaze, 
is  the  prayer  of  your  sincere  well-wisher, 

GRANT  THORBURN. 

t  In  December,  1833,  and  February,  1834,  I  met  more  than 
one  person  in  London,  who  seriously  believed  that  General 
Washington  was  born  in  England.  Oh  how  Basile  Hall  and  Mr§. 
Trollope  would  have  stared  at  each  other,  had  they  met  such  pro- 
found ignorance  in  Washington  City  or  New-York. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL,  79 

in  the  middle  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  She  smiled  at 
the  remark,  and. observed,  it  was  very  likely  to  be  the 
first  instance  of  the  kind. 

When  we  parted  the  duchess  said,  if  there  was  any 
thing  in  the  garden  or  green-houses,  in  the  shape  of 
plants  or  roots,  that  I  would  wish  to  take  with  me  to 
America,  to  tell  the  head  gardener  that  it  washer  wish 
they  should  be  properly  put  up  for  me.  I  mention 
this,  and  I  could  mention  other  instances  of  the  same 
polite  attention  I  received  from  persons  high  in  society, 
not  from  ostentation,  but  that  those  who  read  these 
lines  may  see,  that  what  are  termed  nobility  in  Europe, 
are  not  all  of  them  the  brainless  fools  that  multitudes  in 
this  country  take  them  to  be  ;  and  to  bear  my  testimony 
of  respect  to  that  worthy  family,  who  have  been  the 
chief  support  of  my  native  town  for  many  generations.* 


*  About  fifty  years  ago,  a  poor  woman  living  in  the  parish  of 
Dalkeith,  having  a  favour  to  ask  from  the  duchess,  put  on  her 
best  Tartan  plaid,  and  goes  forth.  On  the  way,  she  steps  into 
the  house  of  a  neighbor  gossip,  told  where  she  was  going,  and 
asked  what  she  should  say  when  she  spoke  to  the  duchess.  Oh, 
says  the  gossip,  you  must  say  your  grace.t  Well,  the  old  lady 
arrived  at  the  palace,  was  shown  into  the  room  where  the  duch- 
oss  gave  audience  to  these  people.  "  Well,  good  woman,"  says 
the  duchess, "  what  is  your  wish  ?"  •'  For  what  we  are  going  to 
receive,  may  the  Lord  make  us  thankful,  Amen."  The  duchess 
smiled,  and  repeated  her  question.  "  For  what  we  are  going  to 
receive,"  &c.,  again  says  the  old  woman.  The  duchess  was  una- 
ble to  sit  with  laughter.  She  called  a  female  servant,  and  told 
her  to  see  what  the  old  lady  wanted.  The  request  was  readily 
granted,  and  probably  doubled  for  the  humour  of  the  joke. 

t  "  Your  grace,"  is  the  fashionable  mode  of  speaking  when 
you  address  the  wife  of  a  duke.  But  the  old  lady  thought  she 
was  to  ua«  the  words  she  was  wont  to  use  before  eating  her  food, 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Edinburgh — Its  Inhabitants — Manners — Buildings — • 
Countess  of  Stair — and  Mrs.  Macfarlane,  tyc. 

THERE  is  a  sort  of  a  plain,  steady,  sedate,  straight 
forward,  unsophisticated  manner  about  the  folks  of  this 
gude  toon,  and  indeed  all  over  Scotland,  that  is  not  to 
be  met  with  in  any  other  country.  The  views  from  the 
castle,  and  other  hills  near  the  city,  are  beautiful  in  the 
extreme.  In  short,  what  the  tour  of  Europe  was  ne- 
cessary to  see  elsewhere,  you  may  find  congregated 
in  Edinburgh.  Here  are  alike  the  beauties  of  Prague, 
and  of  Saltsburgh ;  here  are  the  romantic  sites  of 
Orvietto  and  Tivoli ;  and  here  is  all  the  magnificence 
of  Naples  and  Genoa. 

Many  of  the  houses  are  10,  and  some  of  them  12 
stories  high.  Fifty  years  ago,  the  highest  and  lowest 
tenements  were  occupied  by  artificers  ;  while  the 
gentry  and  better  sort  of  people,  dwelt  in  the  5th 
and  6th  stories,  being  exactly  different  in  this  respect 
from  the  custom  in  London.  There  the  rich  live  below, 
and  the  baser  sort  above.  Some  forty  years  ago,  a 
gentleman  from  Edinburgh,  having  business  in  London 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  81 

to  detain  him  some  months,  he  engaged  the  uppermost 
story  of  a  lodging  house.  H«  was  very  much  surprised 
to  find  what  he  thought  the  genteelest  place  of  the 
whole  to  be  the  cheapest.  His  friends  who  came  to 
see  him,  in  vain  acquainted  him  with  the  mistake  he 
had  been  guilty  of.  "  He  kend  very  weel,"  he  said, 
*'  what  gentility  was,  and  after  having  lived  all  his  life 
in  a  sixth  story,  he  was  not  come  to  London  to  live  upon 
the  ground." 

The  castle,  the  houses,  the  closes  and  lanes  in  the 
ancient  parts  of  the  old  town,  are  connected  with  every 
thing  romantic  and  interesting  in  Scottish  history.  In 
these  narrow  lanes  and  closes  (so  made  to  repel  inva- 
ders,) dwelt  most  of  the  nobles  and  gentry  of  Scotland, 
whose  names  are  conspicuous  in  the  history  of  the  last 
century.  But  now  they  are  chiefly  occupied  by  por- 
ters and  others  of  the  lowest  orders  in  society. 

In  one  of  these  old  closes  stands  an  ancient  building, 
long  the  residence  of  the  Countess  of  Stair ;  and  here 
she  died,  21st  Nov.  1759.  From  this  circumstance,  it 
is  called  Stair's  Close  until  this  day.  She  was  the 
younge%t  daughter  of  James,  second  Earl  of  Loudoun  ; 
was  a  woman  of  surpassing  beauty,  a  strong  mind, 
liberal  education,  and  was  married  when  very  young  to 
Lord  Primrose.  This  nobleman  was  a  debauched 
blackguard,  and  treated  his  lady  with  the  most  wanton 
cruelty.  One  day  while  dressing  she  saw  in  the  glass 
his  figure  approaching  the  room  door  in  which  she 
stood,  his  face  flashing  like  one  of  hell's  furies,  and  a 
drawn  sword  in  his  hand.  Happily  her  chamber  win- 
dow was  open,  she  sprung  through  into  the  street, 
half  dressed  as  she  was,  and  very  prudently  fled  to  the 
house  of  his  mother,  who  was  a  widow,  where  she 
claimed  and  received  the  protection  she  deserved. 


82  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Shortly  after  this,  the  husband  left  the  country  and 
took  up  his  abode  in  Holland.  About  this  time,  there 
appeared  in  Edinburgh  a  noted  foreign  conjurer  or 
fortune-teller.  He  professed,  among  other  wonders,  to 
show  you  the  present  condition  or  situation  of  any  per- 
son in  whom  you  might  feel  an  interest.  Lady  Prim- 
rose, who  had  lost  all  trace  of  her  husband,  was  incited 
by  curiosity  to  go  with  a  female  friend  to  the  house  of 
this  person  in  the  Canongate.  Lady  Primrose,  having 
described  the  individual  in  whose  fate  she  was  interest- 
ed, and  having  expressed  a  desire  to  know  what  he  was 
at  present  doing,  the  conjurer  led  her  to  a  large  mirror, 
in  which  she  beheld  the  inside  of  a  church,  with  a  mar- 
riage  party  arranged  near  the  altar — the  bridegroom  was- 
her  husband ;  the  ceremony  went  on,  and  just  as  the 
priest  was  bidding  the  parties  to  join  hands,  a  gentle- 
man, in  whom  Lady  Primrose  recognised  as  her  bro- 
ther, entered  the  church,  made  up  to  the  parties,  and 
immediately  all  was  confusion,  and  the  whole  scene 
vanished.  When  Lady  Primrose  got  home,  she  wrote 
a  narrative  of  the  whole  transaction  ;  to  whichjahe  ap- 
pended the  day  of  the  month,  sealed  it  up  in.jRie  pre- 
sence of  a  witness,  and  locked  it  up  in  her  bereau. 
Soon  after  this  her  brother  returned  ;  she  asked,  if  in 
his  wanderings  he  had  seen  aught  of  her  husband. 
The  young  man  answered,  that  he  wished  he  might 
never  again  hear  that  detested  personage  mention- 
ed. Lady  Primrose,  however,-  continued  her  ques- 
tions, when  it  finely  came  out,  that  being  in  Am- 
sterdam, and  introduced  to  an  opulent  merchant,  who 
had  a  beautiful  daughter,  an  only  child,  the  merchant 
invited  him  to  the  marriage  of  his  daughter,  which  was 
to  take  place  that  night;  and  added,  that  the  bride- 
groom being  a  Scotchman,  his  company  would  be  the 


JOURNAL.  83 

more  agreeable.  The  brother  was  detained — the  cere- 
mony proceeding — when  he  entered  the  church  just 
time  enough  to  prevent  the  union  of  an  amiable  young 
lady  to  the  greatest  monster  alive  in  human  shape — 
viz.  his  own  brother-in-law,  Lord  Primrose. 

Lady  Primrose  asked  her  brother  on  what  day  the 
circumstance  which  he  related  took  place.  Having 
been  informed,  she  gave  the  key  to  her  brother,  and 
requested  him  to  open  a  drawer  which  she  described  in 
her  bureau,  and  bring  her  the  aforesaid  sealed  package. 
The  packet  being  opened,  it  was  discovered  that  Lady 
Primrose  had  seen  the  shadowy  representation  of  her 
husband's  abortive  nuptials  on  the  very  evening  they 
were  transacted  in  reality. 

This  story  may  excite  a  smile  from  the  incredulous 
reader.  It  fell  out,  however,  into  the  hands  of  honour- 
able men  and  women,  who  could  have  neither  motive 
nor  interest  in  imposing  on  the  credulity  of  their  own 
family  and  friends.  That  the  circumstances,  as  related, 
did  take  place,  is  a  fact  as  stubborn  in  history  as  that 
Bonaparte  died  in  St.  Helena.  In  earth,  sea,  and  sky, 
there  are  mysteries  unexplored  which  philosophy 
never  dreamt  of.* 

The  Back  Stairs, 

An  old  access  from  the  Cowgate  to  the  Parliament 
Square.  A  very  extraordinary  tragedy  of  private  life 
is  connected  with  the  history  of  this  close.  It  happened 


*  Lord  Primrose  died  some  years  after,  when  she  married  the 
Earl  of  Stain. 


84  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

about  a  century  ago,   and  will  remind  the  reader  of  a 
celebrated  tale  of  ancient  Rome. 

A  young  Englishman  of  the  name  of  Cayley,  who 
held  the  situation  of  commissioner  in  the  customs,  was 
so  imprudent  as  to  contract  an  attachment  to  Mrs. 
Macfarlane,  the  wife  of  a  writer*  in  Edinburgh.  On 
Saturday,  September  30th,  1716,  Mrs.  Macfarlane  was 
exposed,  by  the  treachery  of  Mr.  Cayley's  landlady, 
(with  whom  she  was  acquainted,)  to  an  insult  of  the 
most  atrocious  kind  on  his  part,  in  the  house  where 
he  lodged.  Next  Tuesday,  Mr.  Cayley  waited  upon 
Mrs.  Macfarlane,  at  her  own  house,  and  was  shown 
into  the  drawing-room.  His  friends  said  he  went  to 
make  an  apology.  Others  said  he  attempted  to  repeat 
the  insult  which  he  had  formerly  offered — whereupon 
she  rushed  into  another  rpom,  and  presently  came 
back  with  a  pair  of  pistols  in  her  hand.  On  her  bid- 
ding him  leave  the  house  instantly,  he  said,  "  what, 
madam,  d'ye  design  to  act  a  comedy  ?"  To  which  she 
answered,  that  "he  would  find  it  a  tragedy  if  he  did 
not  retire."  The  infatuated  man  persisting  in  his  ob- 
ject, she  fired  off  one  of  the  pistols,  which,  however, 
only  wounded  him  slightly  in  the  left  wrist,  the  bullet 
slanting  down  into  the  floor.  The  mere  instinct  of  self- 
preservation,  probably  caused  him  to  draw  his  sword; 
but,  before  he  could  use  it,  she  fired  the  other  pistol, 
the  shot  of  which  penetrated  his  heart.  She  immedi- 
ately left  the  room,  locked  the  door  upon  the  dead  body, 
and  sent  a  servant  for  her  husband.  On  his  coming 
home,  she  took  him  by  the  sleeve,  and  leading  him  into 
the  room  where  the  corpse  lay,  explained  the  circum- 


*  An  Atlornoy,  or  lawyer. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  95 

stances  which  led  to  the  bloody  act.  The  husband, 
seeing  the  necessity  for  prompt  measures,  went  out  to 
consult  with  his  friends.  They  all  advised  that  he 
should  convey  his  wife  away  privately,  to  prevent  her 
lying  in  gaol,  till  a  precognition  should  be  taken  of  the 
affair.  Accordingly  about  6  o'clock  she  walked  down 
the  high  street,  followed  at  a  little  distance  by  her 
husband,  and  so  absconded. 

The  thing  continued  a  profound  secret  to  all  except 
those  concerned  in  the  house,  when  Mr.  Macfarlane, 
(having  provided  a  safe  retreat  for  his  wife,)  returned 
and  discovered  the  matter  to  the  magistrate,  who 
viewed  the  body  of  the  deceased.*  A  most  careful  in- 
vestigation was  made  into  every  circumstance  connec- 
ted with  this  fatal  affair,  but  without  demonstrating  any 
thing,  except  the  passionate  rashness  or  magnanimity 
of  the  fair  murdress.  Mr.  Macfarlane  was  discharged 
upon  his  own  affirmation,  that  he  knew  nothing  of  the 
deed  till  after  it  had  taken  place. 

It  will  surprise  every  one  to  learn  that  this  Scottish 
Lucrece  was  a  woman  of  only  nineteen  or  twenty  years 
of  age,  and  some  months  encient,  at  the  time  when  she 
so  boldly  vindicated  her  honour.  It  is  said  she  found 
protection  and  concealment  for  some  time  at  Swinton 
House  in  Berwickshire — where  a  young  lady  of  the 
family  entering  the  parlor  one  day,  when  all  the  rest 
were  at  church,  saw  a  lovely  vision  pouring  out  tea, 
whom  she  at  first  thought  to  be  an  enchanted  queen. 

Mrs.  Swinton  was  afterwards  informed  by  her  mother, 
that  the  lady  was  Mrs.  Macfarlane,  who  had  some  claims 


*  It  is  a  carious   fact,   there  is  not  such  an  officer  known  in 
Scotland  as  a  Coroner.    If  there  is  now,  it  is  of  very  recent  data. 

8 


86  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

of  gratitude  upon  them,  and  was  here  in  hiding  for  her 
life.  What  became  of  her  afterwards  is  not  generally 
known.  But  Mrs.  Swinton's  grandson,  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  has  made  a  fictitious  use  of  this  incident  in  his 
novel  of  "  Peveril  of  the  Peak." 


: 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Edinburgh  continued — A  Remarkable  Beggar — Anti- 
quarian Museum — John  Knox's  Pulpit — Covenan- 
ters' Flag — Jenny  Geddes'  Stool — and  Mrs.  Grant  of 
Lag g an,  $c. 

January  10. — About  9  o'clock  this  morning  I  saw  a 
woman  sitting  on  a  cold  stone  begging — it  rained  at  the 
time.  She  had  no  umbrella — was  nursing  a  child  at  each 
breast — said  they  were  twins.  I  threw  in  my  mite.  I 
thought  the  police  ought  to  have  seen  to  this  ;  it  was  in 
a  very  public  street.  I  should  like  to  have  had  Mrs. 
Trollope  by  my  elbow  at  this  moment.  Visited  the 
museum  of  the  Antiquarian  Society.  The  pulpit  of 
John  Knox,  the  Scottish  reformer,  stands  in  one  of  the 
rooms  ;*  also  a  silk  flag  taken  from  the  Covenanters  at 


*  Almost  every  one  who  visits  the  museum  hare  a  wish  to  stand 
in  this  pulpit.  The  managers,  fearing  lost  this  perpetual  motion 
would  bring  it  to  pieces,  had  the  stairs  cut  off.  I  also  had  a  wish  to 
stand  in  this  hot  bed  of  reformation.  I  told  the  secretary  I  would 
not  ask  to  infringe  on  any  positive  order  of  the  house,  but  if  there 
could  be  any  exception,  I  certainly  would  like  to  enter  that  pulpit. 
He  handed  a  chair,  and  helped  me  in  at  once.  I  must  say  I  felt 
pleased  when  my  feet  stood  where  stood  the  feet  of  that  great 
man,  and  my  hands  rested  on  that  sacred  desk  from  whence 
streams  flowed  as  pure  as  ever  watered  the  city  of  God.  The 
pulpit  is  of  hard  oak,  and  has  never  been  painted  ;  it  is  still  in 
good  repair,  though  nearly  300  years  old. 


88  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

the  battle  of  Bothwell  Bridge  in  1556.     The  flag  bears 
the  following  motto  : 

Covenants,  Religion,  King-  and  Country. 

For  an  interesting  account  of  this  battle,  see  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  History  of  Old  Mortality,  in  the  Tales 
of  My  Landlord. 

Jenny  Geddes's  stool  is  also  standing  here.  It  is 
formed  from  four  pieces  of  timber  crossed,  with  a  piece  of 
black  leather  for  a  top,  so  when  stretched  out  and  set 
down,  it  makes  a  seat  in  the  shape  of  a  small  bed  cot — 
when  lifted  it  folds  up,  and  it  may  be  carried  in  the  hand. 
This  stool  is  a  relic  connected  with  a  very  important  part 
of  Scottish  history.  Jenny  Gocldes  kept  a  stall  in  the 
high  street  of  Edinburgh  for  retailing  vegetables.  I 
think  it  was  about  the  year  1660,  when  Charles  II. 
was  so  anxious  to  introduce  episcopacy  into  Scotland, 
that  Jenny  Geddes  and  her  stool  is  first  heard  of  in  the 
annals  of  Scotland. 

In  those  days  there  were  no  pews  in  the  churches, 
and  at  the  present  day  in  the  old  chapels  and  cathedrals 
in  England,  there  is  not  seats  enough  to  accommodate 
the  one  half  of  the  congregation.  In  Westminster 
Abbey  and  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  but  more  especially  in 
the  latter,  the  greater  part  of  the  pews  and  seats  are  oc- 
cupied by  readers,  chanters  and  singers  :  the  majority  of 
the  congregation  stand  during  the  whole  of  the  service. 
Well,  the  important  Sabbath  day  arrived  when,  in  obe. 
dience  to  the  king's  proclamation,  prayers  were  to  be 
read  in  all  the  churches  of  Scotland.  The  people  al- 
most to  a  man,  were  opposed  to  this  anti-Christian  inno- 
vation, as  they  termed  the  reading  of  prayers.  Jenny, 
as  her  custom  was  while  the  bell  was  tolling,  might  be 


THOKBURN'S  JOURNAL.  89 

seen  plodding  along  the  high  street,  entering  the  auld 
kirk,  placing  her  stool  and  her  person  very  composedly 
under  the  pulpit  cr  reading  desk.  The  organ  thrums  off 
a  solo.  Jenny  sent  forth  a  heavy  groan.  The  bishop 
rises  on  his  feet,  white  surplice,  black  gown,  white  bands, 
powdered  wig,  and  all  his  canonicals  in  order.  Jenny 
thought  he  was  the  very  pope  himself.  He  proceeds, 
"  Dearly  beloved  brethren,  the  scripture  moveth  us,  &c." 
Jenny  thought  with  herself  that  the  de'il  was  moving 
him.  He  calls  on  the  dean  to  read  the  collect  for  the 
day.  She  jumps  up,  and  exclaims  in  her  Scottish  dia- 
lect, "  the  muckle  de'il,  colic  the  name  o'  ye !  will  ye 
say  mass  in  my  face  ?"  and  flinging  the  stool  at  his 
head,  commenced  an  insurrection  which  continuing 
for  twenty-eight  years,  terminated  in  the  overthrow  of 
the  Stewarts  by  the  revolution  of  1688,  which  placed 
William  on  the  throne  of  Britain. 

Mrs.  Grant,  of  Laggan,  in  Scotland,  is  well  known 
to  the  literary  world.  Her  book  on  the  Superstitions 
of  the  Highlanders  and  Cottagers  of  Glenbirnie,  has 
been  much  extolled,  but  her  work  entitled  The  Ameri- 
can Lady,  published  in  New-York  in  1814,  is  consider- 
ed her  chef  d'ceuvre.  In  giving  the  History  of  Aunt 
Schuyler,  she  has  admirably  portrayed  the  primitive 
simplicity  of  the  worthy  Dutch  settlers^ — true  to  nature 
and  to  the  letter.  For  a  considerable  period  she  was 
believed  to  be  the  writer  of  the  Tales  of  My  Landlord. 

On  the  5th  of  February,  at  11  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, I  called  to  see  this  venerable  lady.  The  servant 
informed  me  that  she  never  saw  company  until  after  2 
o'clock.  As  she  is  now  upwards  of  four  score  years  old, 
and  as  many  of  the  gentry  in  Edinburgh  and  London 
go  to  bed  at  sunrise,  and  get  up  when  the  sun  goes 


90  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

down,*  (for  I  was  more  than  once  invited  to  dine  in 
both  cities  at  9  o'clock  P.  M.)  I  thought,  perhaps,  she 
had  not  yet  got  up.  Said  I,  "  Is  she  up  ?"  "  She  is." 
"Is  she  dressed?"  "  She  is."  You  know  that  among 
the  ladies  being  dressed,  means  more  than  merely 
throwing  a  gown  over  their  shoulders. 

I  had  travelled  some  distance  through  a  thick  Scotch 
mist  to  see  this  interesting  woman,  and  was  loath  to 
measure  the  same  ground  twice,  without  effecting  my 
object.  I  took  out  my  card.  Said  I,  "  Give  this  to  your 
mistress,  and  say  to  her  that  I  shall  consider  it  a  par- 
ticular favour,  if  she  will  grant  me  only  three  minutes 
conversation."  The  girl  returned  immediately,  and 
said,  "Will  you  please  to  walk  up  stairs?"  In  the 
middle  of  an  elegant  parlour  sat  the  old  lady,  her  back 
to  the  fire,  and  before  her  a  desk  covered  with  books 
and  writing  materials.  "  Be  so  good,  sir,"  said  she, 
"  as  to  hand  yourself  a  chair,  and  sit  down  by  me.  I  am 
not  so  able  now  to  wait  upon  my  friends  as  I  was 
sixty  or  seventy  years  ago."  Then  raising  my  card — 
it  was  printed  "GRANT  THORBURN,  New-York" — she 
placed  her  finger  upon  "  New-York,"  and  observed, 
"  This  is  a  passport  to  me  at  any  hour." 

We  sat  and  conversed  for  hours — they  seemed  as 
minutes.  She  spoke  of  the  time  when  Niagara  was 
the  only  fort  on  the  northern  frontier.  Her  father  was 
an  officer  in  the  regiment  stationed  there,  nearly  eighty 
years  ago.  She  referred  to  the  days  when  the  Cuylers, 
the  Van  Rensselaer's,  the  Schuylers,  the.  Delancys, 


*  Sundown,  in  London,  is  said  to  be  an  American  phrase.  I 
had  some  pleasant  discussion  whether  sundown  or  sunset  was 
most  proper.  The  wise  men  of  London  generally  agreed  that 
jimdown  was  the  most  correct. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  91 

the  Van  Courtlandts,  the  Tenbrooks,  and  the  Beek- 
mans,  were  her  playmates  at  school.  When  I  informed 
her  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  a  personal  acquaintance 
with  many  of  the  descendants  of  these  old  worthies, 
and  that  they  were  a  race  in  no  way  degenerated,  her 
filmy  eyes  glistened  with  pleasure.  She  remembered 
Albany  when  it  contained  only  two  streets — one  on 
the  bank  of  the  river,  the  other  (now  State-street)  run- 
ning down  from  the  old  fort  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  In 
the  centre  of  the  street  stood  the  market.  The  only 
butcher  was  an  Indian  ;  and  in  place  of  huckster-women, 
there  sat  the  squaw,  with  her  moccasins,  beads,  wam- 
pum, and  wild  fruit.  The  English  and  Dutch  church, 
(lately  removed,)  the  guard  house  and  town  hall,  em- 
braced all  the  public  buildings.  By  the  way,  it  would 
be  a  curious  matter,  could  it  be  arrived  at  in  any  man- 
ner, to  ascertain  how  many  pipes  of  old  Virginia  were 
smoked  in  this  same  old  hall,  from  its  rise  to  its  final 
decline !  She  remembered  the  time  well  when  the 
scows  came  up  laden  with  bricks  from  Holland,  to  be 
used  in  building  houses  in  Albany.  It  is  an  odd  trait 
in  the  history  of  these  honest  Dutchmen,  that  although 
Albany  is  built  on  a  mountain  of  clay,  and  the  country 
around  them,  at  that  time,  a  forest  of  trees,  yet  they 
found  no  head  long  enough  to  mould  a  brick,  nor  wood 
dry  enough  to  burn  a  kiln.  They  partook  largely  of 
the  spirit  of  the  sober-sided  company,  which  composed 
the  adventurous  party  sent  out  from  New  Amsterdam 
to  explore  the  mighty  Hudson.  A  few,  more  timorous 
than  the  rest,  gave  up  the  pursuit ;  and,  notwithstand- 
ing all  "the  world  was  before  them  where  to  choose," 
no  spot  could  they  find,  whereon  to  build  a  city,  more 
suitable  than  the  low  swamp  on  the  banks  of  the  Kilns, 
where  soon  rose  Communipaw,  that  flourishing  city  of 
the  lakes.  But  this  is  a  digression. 


92  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Mrs.  Grant  alluded  to  the  unsophisticated  time  in  the 
history  of  the  past,  when  the  lads  and  lasses  of  Albany 
— brothers,  sisters,  cousins,  and  sweethearts — the  boys 
with  gun,  axe,  and  fishing-tackle — the  girls  with  their 
knitting  work,  cakes  and  pies,  tea  and  sugar — sallied 
out  into  the  woods,  of  a  fine  summer's  morning,  to 
spend  the  long  day  in  innocent  amusements,  to  gather 
and  eat  wild  fruit — more  sweet  from  the  hand  of  each 
one's  favourite  lassie — and  to  tell  their  tales  of  honest 
affection.  As  she  rehearsed  these  scenes,  the  days  of 
auld  lang  syne  seemed  to  start  from  their  long  slumber. 
"Ah  !  those  were  happy  days,"  said  she  ;  and  h«r  dim 
eyes  lighted  up  like  the  flittering  blaze  of  an  expiring 
lamp,  and  she  seemed  to  live  over  again  the  season  of 
her  youth.  She  made  pointed  inquiries  after  the  widow 
of  the  much  lamented  Hamilton,  with  whom  she  was  a 
school-mate.  She  seemed  delighted  when  I  informed 
her  that  she  was  in  comfortable  circumstances,  enjoyed 
a  green  old  age,  and  that  her  sun  was  going  down  in  peace 
and  serenity,  in  the  bosom  of  her  worthy  and  prosper- 
ous family.  At  length  we  parted,  mutually  wishing 
for  that  preparation  of  the  heart  which  alone  fits  friends 
for  entering  that  world  where  separation  is  impossible. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Edinburgh — John  Knox's  House — Anecdotes  of  John 
Knox — Register  Office — Remonstrance  of  the  Nobles 
and  Barons  of  Scotland  to  the  Pope — 'College  and 
Surgeons1  Hall. 

KNOX,  the  reformer,  was  lodged  here  by  the  magis- 
trates in  1560,  on  being  appointed  Parish  Minister  of 
Edinburgh.  The  house  fronts  on  the  main  street.  It 
projects  some  feet.  On  one  corner  of  the  building  is  a 
stone  pulpit,  where  he  stands,  as  if  preaching  to  the 
people  below.  On  the  front  of  the  pulpit  is  marked — 
"  Born  2d  May,  1505."  Extract  from  the  City  Re- 
cords. "  On  the  last  day  of  October,  1561,  the  provost, 
ballias,  and  counsail  ordanis  the  dene  of  Gyld,  with  all 
diligence,  to  mak  ane  warme  studye  of  daillis  to  the 
Minister,  Johne  Knox,  within  his  hous,  abon  the  hall 
of  the  same,  with  lyht  and  wyndokis  thereunto,  and  all 
other  necessaris."  Knox  probably  lived  here  until  his 
death,  Nov.  24,  1572. 

The  house  is  now  occupied  by  two  barbers — one 
below,  the  other  up  stairs.  I  got  shaved  on  the  ground 
floor,  and  paid  one  penny.  Next  day,  as  I  was  curious 
to  see  as  much  as  possible  of  this  notable  house,  I  got 
shaved  up  stairs — they  charged  me  two  pence.  "  How 
is  this,"  said  I,  "your  neighbour  below  charged  me 


94  .  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

only  a  penny  yesterday  ?"  "  O,  ho,"  says  he,"  "  but 
this  is  the  very  room  that  John  Knox  studied  his  ser- 
mons in,  and  that  is  the  very  winnock  (window)  that  he 
used  to  preach  ou'r  to  the  folks  in  the  street."  "  Well," 
said  I,  "this  being  the  case,  I  think  myself  it  is  worth 
a  penny  more."  I  found  he  was  a  quisical  old  mortal, 
shaving  with  spectacles  on  the  end  of  his  nose.  We 
got  in  conversation.  He  was  full  of  anecdotes  about 
John  Knox — carried  me  through  the  house — showed 
the  kitchen,  sleeping-room,  parlour  and  all;  indeed  I 
thought  the  penny  was  well  spent.  He  said  Queen 
Mary  (wha  lived  in  the  muckle  huse  doon  the  street)  and 
John  had  many  a  quarrel,  and  one  time  she  got  so 
angry,  she  said  she  would  have  his  head  cut  off.  "  Ah, 
madam,"  says  John,  "  but  he  is  aboon  wha  guides  the 
gdlly,  (that  is  to  say,  he  is  above  who  guides  the  knife.) 
On  another  occasion,  she  told  her  courtiers  she  was 
more  afraid  for  the  prayers  of  John  Knox,  than  for  an 
army  of  ten  thousand  men.  She  was  a  deep,  dissem- 
bling, politic  woman.  On  one  occasion,  having  a  diffi- 
cult matter  to  manage  with  John,  she  treated  him  in 
the  most  gracious  manner,  seating  him  by  her  on  the 
sofa,  holding  hie  hand  in  hers,  &c.  She  rather  got  the 
best  of  the  bargain,  for  John  afterwards  remarked  to 
one  of  his  friends,  "  What  a  pity  the  de'il  shu'd  hae  his 
abode  in  sic  a  piece  o'  bonny  painted  clay." 

January  Wth — Was  shown  the  interior  of  the  Re- 
gister Office,  where  I  saw  many  ancient  and  important 
national  documents.  In  a  glass  case  is  kept  the  original 
copy  of  the  articles  of  union  between  Scotland  and 
England,  with  the  personal  signatures  of  all  the  nobles 
of  both  countries.  It  is  dated  22d  May,1706. 

In  another  glass  case,  I  saw  the  original  copy  of  a 
remonstrance  from  the  nobles,  earls,  baron*,  freemen, 


THORBTJRN'S  JOURNAL.  95 

and  of  the  Scottish  community  to  the  pope,  dated  6th 
April,  1320. 

It  contained  the  signature  of  each  person,  whose 
name  is  in  the  instrument,  with  his  seal  appended  to 
each  signature  with  a  piece  of  ribbon.  It  is  written  in 
Latin,  in  a  clear,  plain  hand,  on  a  slieet  of  parchment, 
and  is  now  514  years  old.  It  appears  that  King  Ed- 
ward of  England,  finding  it  impossible  to  .conquer 
Scotland  with  the  sword,  applied  to  the  pope, — (this 
same  Edward,  must  have  been  just  such  another  poor 
milk-and-water  soul  as  the  late  King  of  Spain,  whom, 
the  papers  inform  us,  spent  all  his  time  in  doing  nothing 
but  sewing  petticoats,)  who  issued  his  bull,  command- 
ing all  the  people  in  Scotland  to  submit  to  the  authority 
of  Edward,  under  pain  of  excommunication,  and  that 
he  would  raise  on  them  the  French,  the  Germans,  the 
Danes,  Swedes,  English  and  Irish,  and  sweep  them 

from  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  send  them  all  to by 

the  wholesale.  The  Scotchmen,  no  way  alarmed,  coolly 
replied  in  substance,  that  as  long  as  there  were  one 
hundred  men  in  Scotland  who  could  wave  a  sword  over 
their  head,  they  would  neither  submit  to  Edward,  to  the 
pope,  nor  to  the  devil.  It  is  a  trait  in  the  national 
character  of  the  Scots,  that  even  the  darkest  times  of 
popery,  the  priests,  could  never  lead  them  so  far  by  the 
nose,  as  they  did  their  more  pliable  neighbors,  the 
French,  Germans,  English,  Irish,  &c.,  in  their  last 
twenty-eight  years  struggle  to  keep  out  episcopacy. — 
(You  will  observe,  that  episcopacy  in  Etigland  and 
America  are  entirely  different  articles — no  Lord  Spirit- 
uals here.)  They  gained  for  their  children  a  portion  of 
religious  liberty  no  where  else  to  be  found  except  in 
America. 


96  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Through  the  politeness  of  one  of  the  gentlemen  in 
the  office,  I  had  it  translated  by  one  of  the  best  Latin 
scholars  in  Edinburgh.  Its  age  and  authenticity,  with 
the  simplicity  of  its  style,  make  it  altogether  a  historical 
curiosity. 

A  free  translation  of  a  copy  of  the  Letter  of  the  Barons, 
Earls,  Freemen,  and  of  the  Scottish  Community,  to 
the  Pope,  6th  April,  1320. 

"  In  the  name  of  the  Most  Holy  Father,  Christ  and 
Lord,  we,  the  undersigned,  (do  hereby  declare  ourselves 
to  be)  by  God's  providence,  the  humble  servants    and 
children  of  Lord  John  the  high  priest,  and  minister  of 
sacred  things  at  Rome,  and  of  the  Universal  Church; 
Duncan,  Earl  of  Fife  ;  Thomas  Randolph,  Earl  of  Mo- 
ray ;  Lords  Mann  and  Annandale  ;  the  heir  of  Dunbar ; 
Earl  of  March  ;  Malicius,  Earl  of  Stratheryne ;  Lord 
Malcolm  of  Lennox  ;  Willelm,  Earl  of  Ross  Shire  ;  Earl 
of  Cathness  and  the  Orkney  Isles,  and  Willelm,  Earl  of 
Sutherland;  Walter  Senescal  Scot ;  Willelm  of  Soulis, 
the  head  butler  of  Scotland;  James,  Earl  of  Douglas; 
Roger  of  Mowbray  ;  David,  Earl  of  Breehin;  David  of 
Graham  ;  Ingeram  of  Umphraville  ;  John   Guard,   of 
Menteith  ;  accompanied  by  Menteith;  Alexander  Fra- 
ser,  Gilbert  of  Hay,  and  If  igh  Constable  of  Scotland  ; 
Robert  of  Keth,  Marshal  of  Scotland  ;  Henry  the  Illus- 
trious ;  John  of  Graham  ;  David  of  Lindsay;  Willelm 
Olifaunt,  heir  of  Graham;  John  of  Jenton;  Willelm  of 
Abernethy ;  David  of  Wemys ;  Willelm  of  the  Jixed 
Mount;  Fergus  of  Ardross  ;  Eustachius  of  Maxwell; 
Willelm  of  Ramsay ;  Willelm  of  the  High  Mount ;  Alan 
of  Moray;  Donald  Campbell;  John   Cameron;  Regi- 
nald of  Chen  ;  Alexander  of  Seton;  Andrew  ofLesce- 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL  97 

lyn  ;  and  Alexander  of  Stratoun,  and  other  Barons  and 
Freemen,  and  of  the  whole  community  of  the  Kingdom 
of  Scotland.  Not  only,  oh  most  holy  Father,  do  we 
know  the  filial  respect,  with  which  devotees  kiss  the  feet 
of  Saints,  but  we  also  gather,  both  from  the  deeds  and 
books  of  the  ancients,  that  our  nation,  to  wit,  that  of 
Scotland,  has  been  illustrious  for  many  great  exploits. 
(Our  nation)  coming  into  Scythia  Major,  passed  the 
pillars  of  Hercules,  and  coming  through  Spain,  resided 
for  many  years  among  very  savage  nations,  and  who  were 
in  subjection  to  no  man.  Then,  after  a  lapse  of  twelve 
hundred  years,  they  came  (like  the  Israelites  in  their 
passage)  and  dwelt  in  those  habitations  now  possessed 
by  the  exiled  Britons  and  Picts,  who  are  nevertheless 
nearly  destroyed  by  the  fierce  engagements  which  they 
have  had  with  the  Norwegians,  Dacians,  and  English, 
by  which  they  have  acquired  many  victories  and  toils  ; 
and  have  showed  that  their  children  were  free  from  all 
slavery  from  their  forefathers.  Thus  far  does  history  bear 
on  us.  In  this  kingdom,  they  had  one  hundred  and  thirty 
kings  of  their  own  of  the  royal  blood,  and  no  foreigner 
taking  possession.  But  He,  by  whom  nobles  reign,  and 
others  shine,  with  great  effulgence,  even  the  King  of 
kings,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  appointed  by  his  most  holy 
faith,  after  his  passion  and  resurrection,  that  they  should 
dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  as  if  they  had 
been  the  first  inhabitants.  Nor  did  he  wish,  that  they 
should  be  confirmed  in  their  faith,  by  any  one,  but  by 
their  first  Apostle,  although  second,  or  even  third,  in 
rank,  to  wit,  our  most  gracious  Andrew  the  German, 
whom  He  always  wished  to  preside  over  them  as  their 
patron,  instead  of  St.  Peter.  But  your  forefathers,  and 
most  holy  predecessors,  thinking  anxiously  that  that 
kingdom,  (of  Germany,  to  wit,)  belonged  by  special 

9 


I 
98  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

right  to  St.  Peter,  sanctioned  the  name  by  many  favours, 
and  innumerable  privileges.  Wherefore  our  nation 
had  thus  far  led  a  quiet  and  peaceable  life,  under  their 
protection,  till  that  great  prince,  Edward,  king  of  the 
English,  and  father  of  him  who  is  hostilely,  (and  yet 
under  the  appearance  of  a  friend  and  anally,)  infesting 
our  (peaceful)  bulwark,  kingdom  and  people,  conscious 
of  neither  guile  nor  mischief,  and  unaccustomed  to  wars 
and  insults,  (at  least,  at  that  time.)  Edward  (whom  we 
have  above  mentioned)  committed  damages,  carnage, 
and  wrongs,  plunder  and  incendiarism,  has  incarcerated 
the  prelates,  burned  the  religious  monasteries,  spoiling 
them  as  he  laid  them  in  ruins  ;  and  having  committed 
other  enormous  grievances,  and  among  the  rest,  has, 
among  the  common  people,  spared  neither  age,  nor  sex, 
religion,  nor  rank.  No  pen  is  capable  of  writing;  nor 
is  the  understanding  capable  of  comprehending ;  neither 
can  experience  teach,  to  the  full  amount,  the  innume- 
rable evils  in  which  he  delights :  but  yet  we  are  deliver- 
ed by  our  most  valiant  prince,  king,  and  lord,  Robert, 
who,  after  he  was  cured  and  healed  of  his  wounds,  has, 
like  another  Maccabaus,  or  Joshua,  freed  his  poeple 
from  the  hands  of  his  enemies,  and  has  suffered  labours, 
toils,  troubles,  and  dangers,  even  bordering  to  death. 
He  also  has  a  benign  disposition,  and  is  obedient  to  the  , 
laws  and  customs,  which  we  will  sustain  even  to  death. 
The  succession  of  the  law,  and  the  debt  which  we  were 
all  due,  made  us  assent  and  agree  that  he  should  be 
our  chief  and  king,  as  being  the  person  through  whom 
safety  accrues  to  the  people,  and  who  is  the  defender 
of  our  liberty,  alike  by  his  kindness  and  by  dint  of  force  ; 
and  to  whom  we  wish  to  adhere  in  every  thing,  and  de- 
sist from  undertakings  with  the  English  king  and  sub- 
jects, who,  forsooth,  wish  that  we  and  our  kingdom  be 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  99 

subject  to  them,  and  that  we  should  instantly  dethrone 
our  king,  as  the  subversor  alike  of  their  and  our  rights, 
and  that  we  should  choose  another  who  is  capable  of 
our  defence;  but  we  declare  that,  as  long  as  a  hundred 
Scotsmen  can  be  any  where  found  to  stand  together,  the 
English  will  never  be  our  masters — for  we  do  not  fight 
for  riches,  glory,  nor  honour,  but  only  for  that  liberty 
which  no  man  loses  except  it  be  accompanied  by  his 
life.  Hence  it  is,  oh  reverend  Father  and  Lord!  that 
we  entreat  your  holiness,  with  all  manner  of  supplica- 
tion, instance,  and  bending  of  hearts  and  knees,  and  that 
we  have  thus  far  recited  the  vicissitudes  of  our  nation, 
whose  sojourning  among  the  nations  of  the  earth  have 
neither  been  a  grievance  upon  grievance,  nor  an  honour. 
Jews  and  Greeks,  Scotch  or  English,  who  look  with  a 
father's  eye  at  the  troubles  and  trials  brought  upon  us 
and  the  church  of  God  by  the  English,  will  see  that  the 
English  king  ought  to  be  sufficed  with  what  he  posses- 
ses, and  will  look  back  to  the  time  when  England  was 
wont  to  be  pleased  with  seven  kings  to  warn  and  rebuke 
those  who  required  it.  But  there  now  remains  nothing 
for  us  Scotsmen,  living  as  we  do  in  exiled  Scotland, 
beyond  which  there  is  no  habitation — there  is  nothing 
but  for  Edward  to  depart  in  peace,  seeing  that  we  desire 
it — for  it  concerns  him,  with  respect  to  you,  to  grant,  and 
it  is  our  desire  effectually  to  procure  the  peace  of  the 
state,  whatever  way  we  can.  O  holy  Father  !  we  beg 
you  to  grant  this — you  who  lookest  at  the  cruelty  of  Pa- 
gans, with  the  existing  faults  of  Christians,  and  the  ser- 
vitude of  Christians,  not  lessening  the  memory  of  your 
holiness,  though  your  empire  is  bounded  by  the  Indies. 
If  any  thing  be  wanting  (to  show  your  holiness  the 
true  character  of  the  English)  behold  the  ignominy  and 
reproach  under  which  the  church  labours  in  these  your 


'100  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

times  ;  this  should,  therefore,  act  as  an  incentive  to 
arouse  some  Christian  chiefs,  who  make  no  pretext,  and 
assign  no  reason  (such  as  thattheyare  at  war  with  their 
neighbours)  why  they  should  not  frame  themselves  into 
a  body  for  the  protection  of  the  holy  land;  but  the  real 
cause  of  this  pretence  is,  that  they  think  it  requires  less 
exertion,  to  carry  on  war  with  their  less  powerful 
neighbours.  But  if  the  English  king  leave  us  in  peace, 
we  also  will  go  and  die  in  the  holy  land,  if  such  be  the 
will  of  our  Lord  and  sovereign.  But  the  English  king 
knows  enough  not  to  be  ignorant,  that  we  hereby  show 
and  declare  to  the  Viear  of  Christ,  and  to  the  whole 
Christian  world,  that  if  your  holiness  do  not  deal  justly 
between  them  and  us,  confusion  will  inevitably  take 
place — the  destruction  of  our  bodies — the  exit  of  our 
souls — and  the  other  inconvenient  consequences  which 
will  follow,  and  which  we  believe  they  have  imputed 
to  us,  and  which  we  have  done  to  them.  From  what  we 
are  and  will  be,  as  well  from  the  obedience  with  which 
we,  as  your  children,  keep  our  tenets,  as  from  the  good 
feeling  which  exists  between  us  and  you,  our  head  and 
judge,  we  trust  our  cause  will  be  looked  after,  thinking- 
and  hoping  firmly,  that  you  will  deal  rightly  with  us, 
and  will  reduce  our  enemies  to  nothing^  and  will  pre- 
serve the  safety  of  your  holiness,  who  hast  been  this 
good  while  head  of  this  holy  church.  This  was  dated 
at  the  monastery  of  Abirbrothoe,  in  Scotland,  6th  April, 
1320,  and  in  the  15th  year  of  our  kingdom,  under  our 
king  above  mentioned. 

My  next  visit  was  to  the  Museum  of  the  Royal  Society 
of  Surgeons,  and  the  day  following  to  the  Anatomical 
Museum,  and  dissecting  rooms  in  the  College.  The 
professors  and  other  gentlemen  showed  me  marked 
attention. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  101 

In  one  of  the  large  rooms  is  kept  the  collection  which 
belonged  to  the  late  Dr.  Hunter  of  London.  This  is 
said  to  be  the  largest  and  best  anatomical  collection  in 
Europe.  In  visiting  these  institutions  the  mind  is  lost. 
You  there  see  the  human  frame  in  all  its  parts,  inward 
and  outward,  and  in  all  its  forms  and  deformities.  But 
volumes  could  not  contain  the  matter  that  might  be 
written  on  these  subjects  ;  and  perhaps  in  no  language 
could  the  subject  be  expressed  in  such  emphatic  words, 
as  in  the  139th  Psalm — "  We  are  fearfully  and  won- 
derfully made." 

In  the  College,  I  saw  the  skeleton  of  Burk,  the  man 
who  was  hanged  in  Edinburgh  some  years  ago  for 
murdering  subjects,  and  selling  them  to  the  doctors  for 
dissection. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Slander  on  New-York  refuted — Holyrood  House—- 
House of  Jeannie  Deans — Willie  Tamson's  Shop — - 
Murder  of  Rizzio — Anecdote  of  Sheriff  Woods. 

BEING  in  Edinburgh  on  the  25th  January,  I  observed 
an  article  in  the  Evening  Courant  of  that  date  to  the 
following  purport :  "  We  have  been  informed  by  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Grant  of  Forres,  that  he  was  told  by  a  respec- 
table presbyterian  clergyman  from  the  United  States, 
and  now  in  this  country,  that  in  New-York  alone,  there 
are  eighty  thousand  deists,  that  the  ministers  are  very 
little  respected,  and  very  poorly  paid." 

Not  liking  to  see  my  favourite  city  so  shamefully 
scandalized  in  a  foreign  country,  I  wrote  the  following 
communication,  carried  it  to  the  office,  and  gave  it  to 
the  editor.  He  read  it.  Says  I,  "  Will  you  publish  the 
reply?"  Says  he,  "  As  soon  as  my  partner  comes  in, 
he  shall  see  it — if  you  call  in  an  hour  I  will  let  you 
know."  "  If  spared,  I  will  call,"  said  I,  "  but  you  will 
observe,  by  the  way,  that  if  you  don't  print  it,  another 
will.  You  have  been  led  into  an  error,  and  it  is  your 
duty  to  correct  it."  It  was  published  next  day. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  103 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Courant. 

Dalkeith,  January  28,  1934. 

SIR — I  observed,  in  your  paper  of  Saturday  last,  a 
statement,  said  to  be  obtained  from  a  respectable  pres- 
byterian  clergyman  from  the  United  States.  He  ob- 
serves, that  "it  is  computed,  that  eighty  thousand  deists, 
or  infidels,  exist  in  New-York  alone."  Now,  sir,  New- 
York  does  not  contain  eighty  thousand  men  altogether, 
good,  bad,  and  indifferent.  But  I  will  state  a  fact ; 
I  think  it  was  about  this  time  five  years  ago  when 
Miss  Fanny  Wright  (a  Scotswoman,  and,  of  course, 
a  disgrace  to  our  country,)  by  the  aid  of  thirty  or  forty 
infidels,  most,  if  not  all,  of  them  Europeans,  opened 
a  small  building,  which  they  dedicated  to  the  God  of 
Nature,  under  the  name  of  "  The  Temple  of  Science." 
For  nearly  twelve  months  Miss  Fanny  received  the  ado- 
rations of  a  small  rabble,  the  offscourings  of  all  things, 
she  oc«asionally  officiating  as  the  Goddess  of  Reason. 
But  (deism  being  both  unpopular  and  unfashionable  in 
New-York,)  the  unhappy  few  were  unable  to  pay  for 
the  building,  the  candles,  or  gas-light.  It  was  sold, 
and  is  now  occupied  by  the  methodists  as  a  chapel, 
where  the  gospel  is  preached.  In  New-York  there  are 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  inhabitants  ;  there  are 
also  above  one  hundred  and  fifty  churches,  chapels,  or 
meeting-houses  ;  the  ministers  receive  from  one  to 
three  thousand  dollars  per  annum.  It  is,  therefore, 
not  true,  that  the  ministers  are  treated  with  disrespect, 
nor  is  it  true,  that  they  are  not  well  paid. 

I  have  resided  nearly  forty  years  in  New-York,  and 
lately  spent  three  months  about  London,  Liverpool, 
and  Edinburgh  ;  but,  from  all  I  have  seen,  I  think 


104  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

there  is  more  external  respect  paid  to  the  Sabbath  in 
New-York,  than  in  any  of  the  above  cities.  As  a  proof 
of  this  assertion,  I  will  state,  there  is  a  law  of  the  city 
which  gives  each  church  the  privilege  of  stopping  up 
the  street  opposite  the  place  of  worship,  in  the  time  of 
service,  by  fastening  an  iron  chain  across  the  street ;  a 
decent  regulation  this,  which  perhaps  no  city  in  Britain 
can  boast  of. 

I  am,  &c.  GRANT  THORBTTRN, 

of  New- York. 

The  Evening  Courant  is  a  warm  church  and  state 
paper.  The  separation  papers  all  over  the  country, 
republished  this  letter  with  numerous  remarks.  There 
was  a  large  separation  meeting-  to  be  held  in  Edin- 
burgh the  week  following.  Two  gentlemen  called  to 
see  if  I  would  attend,  and  state  what  I  knew  about  the 
American  churches.  Says  I,  "  Gentlemen,  when 
Washington  was  the  first  President  of  the  United  States, 
I  was  naturalized.  I  wish  all  the  world  enjoyed  the 
same  religious  and  civil  privileges  that  we  do.  But,  as 
I  have  neither  lot  nor  part  in  your  church  and  state, 
were  I  even  competent  to  the  task,  it  would  be  highly 
improper  in  me  to  open  my  mouth  in  public  on  the 
subject.  I  saw  my  adopted  city  scandalized,  so  I  thought 
I  had  a  right,  being  on  the  spot,  to  speak  in  her  vindi- 
cation." They  acknowledged  the  propriety  of  my  re» 
marks,  and  so  it  ended. 

I  made  some  inquiries,  but  could  hear  of  no  presby- 
terian  minister  in  Scotland,  except  Mr.  Fraser  from 
New  Jersey.  I  called  at  hislodings.  He  denied  being 
the  author — said  his  views  went  with  the  separationists. 

Holyrood  House,  long  the  palace  of  the  kings  of 
Scotland,  was  founded  by  King  David  I.,  A.  D.  1128* 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  105 

and  like  most  other  religious  establishments  of  the 
dark  ages,  originated  in  superstition.  The  account 
given  is,  that  it  was  established  by  that  monarch  to 
perpetuate  the  memory  of  a  miraculous  interposition 
of  heaven,  said  to  have  been  manifested  in  his  favour. 
The  event  is  thus  narrated. — "The  king,  while  hunting  in 
one  of  the  royal  forests  which  surrounds  the  rocks 
and  hills  near  Edinburgh — observe,  this  was  on  rood- 
day — (or  the  day  of  the  exaltation  of  the  cross) — 
was  attacked  by  a  stag,  and  would  have  fallen  a  sacri- 
fice to  its  fury,  when  lo !  an  arm,  holding  in  its  hand  a 
cross  of  the  most  dazzling  brilliancy  interposed  between 
him  and  the  enraged  beast.  At  sight  of  the  cross,  the 
animal  fled  away  in  great  fright,  howling  into  the  wil- 
derness. So  out  of  gratitude  for  this  great  deliverance, 
he  erected  the  abbey  on  the  spot. 

Immediately  above  the  door  of  the  abbey  is  a  small 
square  tablet,  with  the  following  inscription : 

He  shall  build  Ane  hous 

For  My  Name,  And  I  will 

Establish  the  Throne 

of  His  Kingdom 

For  Ever. 

In  this  abbey,  among  the  crumbling  monuments  of  a 
thousand  generations,  the  trophies  of  war  and  emblems 
of  royalty,  is  a  plain  stone  with  the  following  inscrip- 
tion : 

Heir,  Lyis,  Ane,  Honest  Woman 

Calet,  Marget  Bakster, 
Spovs-to-Bartlet-H-Meltvn, 


106  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Dak*-Maker-Burges,-of-ye-Canen-gait, 

Da,-ce-sit-1592, 
Memem-To-Mori. 

The  above  is  an  exact  copy,  letters,  spelling,  marks 
and  figures. 

In  fancy,  I  reveled  for  hours  in  this  ancient  structure, 
among  the  bones  and  the  sculls,  the  scenes  and  the  ac- 
tors, who  have  all  made  their  exit,  during  the  short 
dance  of  a  thousand  generations. 

In  going  the  rounds  of  the  palace,  we  enter  a  long 
narrow  chamber,  evidently  partitioned  off  from  what 
had  been  originally  one  large  parlour.  As  you  enter 
the  door,  is  the  spot  where  Rizzio  was  murdered.  There 
is  still  to  be  seen  a  black  stain  on  the  boards  of  some 
feet  in  circumference,  said  to  be  occasioned  by  the 
blood  which  was  left  unwashed  till  next  morning.  The 
queen,  it  is  said,  to  hide  this  frightful  spot  from  daily 
meeting  her  eyes,  had  the  partition  above  mentioned 
run  across  the  room.  Next  to  the  presence  chamber 
is  a  small  room  10  feet  square.  In  this  room,  the  queen 
was  sitting  at  supper  with  the  Countess  of  Argyle, 
about  8  of  the  clock,  on  the  9th  of  March  1566.  There 
is  a  private  stair  which  leads  from  the  chapel  and  a  se- 
cret door  to  enter  this  room ;  this  door  is  concealed  by 
tapestry,  remnants  of  which  are  yet  hanging.  And  is 
probably  the  same  that  was  rudely  brushed  aside  by  the 
mailed  hand  of  the  iron-hearted  Ruthven,  or  lifted  to 
admit  the  stately  form  of  Darnley.  Through  this  door 
the  king  conveyed  himself,  Lord  Ruthven,  (in  full  ar- 
mour,) George  Douglas  and  two  others.  Rizzio  sat  on 


*  A  short  sword. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  107 

one  side  of  the  room,  playing  on  some  instrument  of 
music  to  amuse  the  queen  and  countess.  On  seeing 
them  enter  \vith  their  naked  swords,  he  fled  to  the 
queen  and  grasped  her  arm.  The  ruffians  held  a  pistol  to 
her  breast,  tore  him  from  her  grasp,  pushed  her  into 
another  parlour,  and  dragged  him  to  an  outer  chamber  ; 
he  all  the  time  crying  most  pitifully  to  the  queen, 
"Justicia,  justicia,  madam!  save  ma  vie!  save  ma  vie!" 
till  they  stopped  his  cries  with  fifty-six  wounds  from 
their  daggers.  Not  long  after  this,  she  was  delivered 
of  a  son,  (James  VI.)  It  is  on  record  that  this  king 
could  never  look  on  blood  without  fainting.  - 

The  only  relic  of  Rizzio  now  to  be  seen,  is  a  walk- 
ing-cane ornamented  with  ivory,  with  his  name  on  it  • 
in  old  characters,  which  is  preserved  in  the  Museum  of 
the  Antiquarian  Society,  Edinburgh.  When  survey- 
ing this  exquisite  collection,  we  are  also  shown  a  pair 
of  gloves  which  belonged  to  the  hapless  Mary. 

It  has  been  slanderously  said  by  some,  that  Mary 
was  too  intimate  with  Rizzio,  and  that  jealousy  in  her 
husband  was  the  cause  of  his  death.  I  have  found 
nothing  in  history  to  convince  me  that  such  was  the  case. 
For  rny  own  part,  I  think  it  was  Mary's  misfortune 
that  she  was  too  much  refined  for  the  society  she  lived 
in.  Having  been  reared  and  educated  at  the  accom- 
plished court  of  France,  no  wonder  she  felt  as  it  were 
alone,  among  those  fiery,  turbulent,  warlike  Highland- 
ers ;  and  she  would  naturally  prefer  the  society  of  the 
French  servants  who  came  with  her,  to  the  company 
of  a  people  whose  language  she  did  not  understand. 
Rizzio  was  a  sort  of  private  secretary,  and,  of  course, 
much  in  her  presence,  which  offended  those  proud 
Scottish  nobles,  and  caused  them  to  plot  his  death. 
Soon  after  this  Mary  resigned  the  crown  in  favour  of 


108  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

her  infant  son,  James  VI.  The  rest  of  her  life  was  one 
continued  series  of  imprisonment  and  privation,  during 
which  period  she  behaved  with  wonderful  magnanimity. 
Here,  too,  we  are  shown  the  apartments  occupied  by 
Louis  XVIII.,  Charles  X.,  and  the  rest  of  the  royal  ex- 
iles of  France,  and  also  the  room  and  the  throne  where 
George  IV.  held  his  court  in  1822. 

I  next  visited  the  house  ofJeannie  Deans.  It  stands 
embosomed  in  a  parterre  of  roses  and  shrubbery  at  the 
foot  of  Salisbury  Craigs,  and  invites  all  tourists  who 
descend  the  hill  to  refresh  themselves  before  they  pur- 
sue their  laborious  journey.  To  stand  in  the  house 
once  occupied  by  one  of  the  loveliest  and  most  interest- 
ing of  all  the  heroines  of  the  Wizard  of  the  North, 
and  to  think  I  could  claim  nativity  with  a  character  so 
perfect,  gave  me  feelings  of  no  ordinary  nature.  The 
appeal  of  this  simple  Scottish  maiden  to  Queen  Caro- 
line, when  pleading  for  the  life  of  her  puir  sister  Effie,  is 
perhaps  the  most  beautiful  specimen  of  natural  elo- 
quence on  record. 

In  one  of  the  small  streets  of  Edinburgh  called  Nid- 
dries  Wynd,  some  time  ago  there  lived  an  eccentric 
character,  named  Willie  Tamson.  He  exhibited  a  sign 
bearing  this  singular  inscription, 

"  Orrd  things  bought  and  sold  here" — 
which  signified  that  he  dealt  in  odd  articles,  such  as  a 
single  shoe  buckle,  one  of  a  pair  of  skates,  a  teapot 
wanting  a  lid,  or  perhaps  as  often  a  lid  without  a  teapot. 
By  this  craft,  however,  this  curious  mortal  contrived  to 
earn  a  decent  living;  for  it  is  a  trait  in  human  nature, 
that  when  a  store  or  person  gets  the  reputation 'for  sell- 
ing cheap,  every  one  takes  it  for  granted  that  it  must 
be  so.  For  instance,  we  have  seen  persons?  flocking  to 
the  shop  where  damaged  linen  was  advertised  for  sale, 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  109 

and  paying  two  cents  per  yard  more  for  the  damaged 
than  what  they  could  have  got  it  for,  dry  and  unsoiled, 
in  another  store. 

So  it  was  by  this  craft  that  our  friend  Willie  thrived, 
for  every  housewife  that  had  an  odd  shoe,  or  an  odd 
glove,  or  an  odd  part  of  a  scissors,  or  an  odd  half  of  a 
pair  of  tongs,  all  went  to  Willie  Tamson  to  get  them 
paired  ;  in  short,  he  was  perhaps  the  greatest  match 
maker  in  Europe. 

Mr.  Woods,  who  is  a  gentleman  of  landed  property, 
and  sheriff  of  the  county  of  Mid  Lothian,  has  lately 
established  a  school  in  the  New  Town  of  Edinburgh  at 
his  own  expense,  for  the  education  of  300  poor  and 
destitute  children.  It  is  his  practice  to  visit  the 
school  every  day,  and  put  questions  to  them  from  the 
subject  on  which  they  are  reading.  A  class  was  read- 
ing in  the  Bible  at  a  place  where,  among  other  evil 
propensities,  man  is  described  as  a  backbiter.  Mr. 
Woods  began  at  the  head,  and  put  the  question  to  each 
boy  in  the  class,  What  is  a  backbiter?  Not  one  could 
tell,  till  at  the  foot  of  the  class,  where  stood  a  poor  lit- 
tle, half-naked,  half-starved  looking  boy.  "  Well," 
said  Mr.  Woods,  "  my  little  fellow,  can  you  tell  me 
what  is  a  backbiter?"  The  boy  looked  up,  with  a 
pitiful  face,  and  in  a  whining  tone  of  voice  replied, 
"  It's  a  LOUSE,  sir."  I  was  told  that  Mr.  Woods  was 
so  amused  with  the  answer,  that  he  gave  the  boy  a 
crown,  and  has  promised  to  look  after  his  future  pros- 
pects. 


10 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Tales  from  the  Highways  and  Hedges — James  VI.  and 
Money-finder — Dumfries — Anecdotes  of  Paul  Jones 
— Battle  of  Bothwell  Bridge — Glasgow,  its  Mer. 
chants.  Cathedral,  and  Commerce — Anecdote* 

DUMFRIES  is  not  only  the  county  town  of  the  shire, 
but  may  be  termed  the  capital  of  the  southwestern 
province  of  Scotland.  The  town  derives  a  melancholy 
interest  from  having  been  for  some  years  the  residence 
of  Robert  Burns  ;  the  place  where  he  breathed  his  last, 
and  where  all  of  him  that  could  die  has  been  deposited. 
I  made  a  short  stay  among  the  intelligent,  sedate,  and 
substantial  inhabitants  of  this  prosperous  town,  where 
I  learned  the  following  anecdote: — In  the  reign  of 
James  VI.  there  lived  in  this  town  a  poor  but  honest 
laboring  man.  It  was  then  the  custom  of  all  ranks  to 
give  entertainments  on  yule-day;*  but  this  man  one  year 
found  his  funds  so  low,  that  it  was  not  in  his  power  to 
be  neebour-like  on  that  occasion.  So,  in  this  dilemma, 
he  resolved  to  go  out  of  town  and  leave  his  wife  in  the 
house,  locking  the  door  upon  her,  and  enjoining  her  in 
case  any  person  called,  not  to  answer.  He  went  to 
dig  peats,  and,  before  he  had  worked  an  hour,  he  struck 
on  a  pot  containing  a  quantity  of  gold  pieces.  He 
knew  that  all  treasure  found  in  such  a  way,  by  law,  be- 

*  Christmas. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  Ill 

longed  to  the  king.  So  away  he  trudges,  making  a  pil- 
grimage to  London  on  foot,  and  tenders  the  money  to 
the  king.  James  was  so  much  struck  with  the  honest 
simplicity  of  the  man,  that  he  told  him  to  keep  the  mo- 
ney and  build  a  house  with  it,  and  when  he  (the  king) 
cam  back  to  "  auld  Scotland,"  he  would  accept,  as  suffi- 
cient compensation,  one  night's  lodging  under  its  roof. 
The  man  built  the  house,  and  the  king  lodged  in  it  ac- 
cordingly. This  story  is  well  authenticated  ;  it  hag 
been  handed  down  from  generation  to  generation  in  the 
town.  A  great-granddaughter  of  the  treasure-finder 
died  in  Dumfries,  since  the  beginning  of  the  present 
century. 

Kirkcudbright  is  a  thriving  little  sea  port  in  the  shire 
of  Galloway.  It  is  famous  for  being  the  birth-place  of 
Paul  Jones.  St.  Mary's  Isle,  about  a  mile  from  this 
town,  is  the  seat  of  the  Earl  of  Selkirk.  The  father  of 
Paul,  was  gardener  to  the  earl.  An  anecdote  of  his 
youth,  connected  with  the  garden,  has  been  preserved 
by  tradition.  The  gardener  of  St.  Mary's  Isle,  at  that 
time,  was  one  of  the  old  fashioned  sort;  parterre  cor- 
responding with  parterre,  summer-house  with  summer- 
nGU5Cj  every  thing  in  short  had  its  double  ;  and  the 
different  sides  of  the  central  walk  '.yere  as  regularly 
alike,  as  the  different  sides  of  a  man's  face.  All  this 
was  the  taste  of  the  old  Earl  Dunbar,  who  was  such  a 
stickler  for  the  system  of  duplicate  resemblances,  that 
it  is  probable,  had  he  been  struck  on  one  side  by  the 
palsy,  he  would  have  regfeted  no  part  of  his  misfortune 
so  much,  as  the  want  of  correspondence  between  the 
different  parts  of  his  frame.  The  earl,  coming  one  day 
into  the  garden,  saw  a  boy  looking  through  the  barred 
window  of  one  of  the  summer-houses,  he  asked  old 
Paul  how  he  came  there.  "Why,"  said  Paul,  "I 


THORBURN  S    JOURNAL. 

caught  him  stealing  fruit,  and  clapped  him  up  till  I 
should  know  what  your  lordship  would  be  pleased  to 
have  done  with  him."  The  earl  then  happened  to  turn 
his  eye  to  the  corresponding  summer-house  on  the 
other  side,  and  observed  Mr.  Paul's  own  son  looking 
through  the  corresponding  window.  "  What !"  ex- 
claimed the  nobleman,  "  has  John  been  stealing  fruit 
too  ?"  "  Na,"  quoth  the  gardener  ;  "  if  it  please  your 
lordship,  I  only  pat  him  in  for  symmetry." 

When  Paul  Jones  was  hovering  with  his  fleet  on  the 
coast  of  Britain,  during  the  war  of  the  American  revo- 
lution, he  paid  his  native  town  a  visit.  He  landed  on 
St.  Mary's  Island,  and  sent  16  of  his  men  to  visit  Lord 
Selkirk's  house.  They  brought  off  a  quantity  of  plate, 
which  was  returned  by  Paul  in  the  same  state  as  when 
taken  away.  It  was  supposed,  his  object  was  to  have 
made  a  prisoner  of  Lord  Selkirk  ;  he  would  have  been 
a  good  hostage  to  the  Americans. 

The  news  of  an  armed  force  having  landed  on  St. 
Mary's  soon  reached  Kirkcudbright,  and^occasioned 
the  greatest  alarm.  The  people  rah  hither  and  thither, 
backwards  and  forwards,  up  streets  and  down  streets, 
every  one  making  inquiries,  and  no  one  possessing  any 
intelligence  ;  the  people  in  the  east  end  of  the  town, 
carrying  their  goods  and  gear  to  the  west  end  of  the  town ; 
and  those  in  the  west  just  as  busy  carrying  their's  east. 
All  was  hurry,  bustle  and  confusion  ;  at  length,  the 
people  collected  some  of  their  scattered  courage,  and 
getting  an  old  crazzy  twenty-four  pounder  down  to  the 
beach,  triumphantly  defied  the  departing  Americans. 
During  the  night-watch,  somebody  called  out  that  he 
saw  Jones's  ship  at  a  little  distance  from  the  shore, 
and  the  cannon  was  by  trembling  hands  brought  to  bear, 
and  fired  at  the  object  he  pointed  out.  No  answer  was 


THORBVRN's    JOURNAL.  113 

returned  from  the  supposed  ship;  and  the  good  burgh- 
ers thinking  him  disabled,  resolved  by  no  means  to 
spare  him,  even  in  his  misfortunes,  continued  the  can- 
nonade with  might  and  main.  "  For  the  love  of  God, 
more  powder  !"•  was  an  exclamation  often  uttered  that 
night,  in  the  urgent  distress  of  the  assailants  for  sup- 
plies of  ammunition.  At  last,  when  morning  dawned, 
and  when  they  thought  they  must  have  completely 
destroyed  the  object  of  their  mighty  rage,  to  their 
inconceivable  mortification  and  shame,  it  turned  out 
that  they  had  been  all  along  wasting  their  powder, 
their  balls,  their  courage,  and  their  exertions,  upon  an  un- 
compromising rock,  which  stood  a  little  way  from  shore. 

At  the  present  day,  there  are  few  who  can  believe, 
were  it  not  on  record  undisputed,  in  what  terror  this 
man  held  the  inhabitants  of  Britain,  living  within  ten 
miles  of  the  sea.  For  a  number  of  years,  I  remember 
hearing  the  noise  of  his  cannon,  when  he  visited  the 
Firth-of-Forth,  about  the  year  1782.  And  though  our 
town  was  upwards  of  four  miles  from  the  shore,  when 
it  was  known  that  he  was  on  the  coast,  people  hid  their 
valuables,  and  the  troops  were  under  arms  all  night. 
And  so  frightful  was  his  name,  I  have  heard  mothers 
and  nurses  sing  out  to  quiet  their  children,  hush,  hush ! 
there's,  Paul  Jones  coming. 

In  the  shire  of  Galloway  is  the  parish  of  Anwotk. 
This  place  is  worthy  of  notice,  as  having  been  once  un- 
der the  ministerial  charge  of  the  celebrated  Samuel 
Rutherford.  His  name  is  still  the  presiding  genius  of  the 
place  ;  it  is  attached  to  all  the  localities  ;  and  the  people 
preserve  numerous  characteristic  reminiscences  of  him 
and  his  habits. 

It  is  told  that  Archbishop  Usher,  hearing  the  fame 
of  Rutherford,  once  came  to  Anwoth,  in  order  to  con- 
10* 


114  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

verse  with  him.  A  romantic  species  of  adventure, 
which  seems  to  have  been  common  among  distinguished 
authors,  before  the  press  and  post-office  had  given  such 
facilities  to  intellectual  correspondence. 

He  appeared  at  the  manse*  on  a  Saturday  night,  in 
the  guise  of  a  beggar,  and  solicited  lodging,  which 
was  readily  granted.  He  was  desired  to  sit  down  in 
the  kitchen,  where  Mrs.  Rutherford  soon  after,  accord- 
ing to  custom,  catechised  the  servants,  and  with  them 
the  apparent  beggar.  She  asked  him,  how  many  com- 
mandments there  were  ?  to  which  he  answered,  eleven. 
She  was  shocked  at  his  ignorance,  and  commented  upon 
it  in  no  very  respectful  terms  ;  but  she  did  not  the 
less  on  that  account  show  to  him  the  hospitality  of  a 
Scottish  matron  of  the  period.  She  gave  him  a  good 
gupper,  and  sent  him  up  to  a  bed  in  the  garret.  This 
was  the  very  situation  in  which  the  bishop  wished  to 
be  placed,  for  he  was  mainly  induced  to  undertake  this 
strange  pilgrimage  by  a  desire  to  hear  Mr.  Rutherford 
pray,  and  he  now  expected  to  hear  his  private  devotions. 
Being  disappointed  however  in  this  expectation,  he 
resolved  to  pour  out  his  own  soul  in  prayer  to  his  ma- 
ker. He  prayed  with  so  much  fervency  and  elo- 
quence, that  Rutherford  started  out  of  bed,  put  on 
hi»  clothes,  came  up  and  told  the  stranger,  that  he 
was  sure  he  could  be  no  other  than  Bishop  Usher. 
The  bishop  confessed  who  he  was,  and  consented  to 
preach  next  day  in  Anwoth  Church,  obtaining  a  promise 
however,  that  no  one  should  be  made  acquainted  with 
his  secret.  Furnished  with  a  suite  of  Mr.  Rutherford's 
clothes,  the  bishop,  early  in  the  morning,  went  out  to 
the  fields ;  the  other  followed  him,  and  soon  after 
brought  him  in  as  a  strange  minister  passing  by,  who 

*  Minister's  house 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  115 

had  promised  to  preach  for  him.  Mrs.  Rutherford 
found  that  the  poor  man  had  gone  away  before  any  of 
the  family  were  out  of  bed.  After  domestic  worship 
and  breakfast,  the  family  went  to  the  kirk.  The  bishop 
took  for  his  text,  (John  xiii.  34,)"  a  new  commandment 
I  give  unto  you,  that  ye  love  one  another."  In  the 
course  of  his  sermon,  he  observed,  that  this  might  be 
considered  the  eleventh  commandment.  Upon  which, 
the  minister's  wife  said  to  herself,  "  this  is  the  answer 
the  poor  man  gave  me  last  night,"  and  looking  up  to 
the  pulpit,  added  ;  "  can  it  be  possible  that  this  is  he  !" 
After  public  worship,  the  strange  minister  and  Mr. 
Rutherford  spent  the  evening  with  mutual  satisfaction. 
And,  early  on  Monday  morning,  the  former  went  away 
without  being  discovered. 

Drumclog  is  the  name  of  a  Farmstead  near  Lanark- 
shire, not  far  from  Strathaven.  It  was  here  on  the  3d 
of  June,  1679,  that  Grahame  of  Claverhouse,  was  de- 
feated by  a  party  of  the  covenanters,  whom  he  went 
forth  19  disperse  and  destroy,  while  they  were  assem- 
bled at  public  worship  among  the  hills  on  the  Sabbath 
day. 

Bothwell  Bridge,  along  which  passes  the  chief  road 
from  Hamilton  to  Glasgow,  was  the  scene  of  a  total 
defeat  of  the  Covenanters  by  the  Duke  of  Monmouth, 
on  the  22d  of  June,  1697.  Elated  (viz.  the  covenanters) 
with  their  late  victory,  they  were  here  collected  in  great 
numbers.  They  had  taken  the  precaution  to  divest  of 
its  parapets  that  part  of  the  bridge  upon  which  the 
enemy  would  require  to  advance.  The  main  body  of 
the  army  lay  in  large  dense  squares  upon  the  face  of 
the  park,  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  bridge,  while 
three  hundred  of  their  best  men,  under  the  command 
of  Hackstone  of  Rathillet,  were  posted  at  the  end  of 
the  bridge  to  defend  this  important  pass. 


116  THORBVRN'S  JOURNAL. 

The  Duke  of  Monmouth  advanced  to  disperse  them. 
He  found  them  in  a  state  of  irresolution  and  confusion. 
One  party  were  for  laying  down  their  arms,  and  accept- 
ing such  terms  as  they  could  get — the  other  insisted  on 
uncompromising  warfare.  The  party  under  Hackstoun 
defended  the  bridge  until  their  ammunition  was  expen- 
ded, when  they  had  to  retreat  to  the  main  body.  Claver- 
house,  burning  to  avenge  his  late  discomfiture,  then 
crossed  the  bridge  with  his  dragoons,  and  falling  upon 
the  distracted  rustics,  completed  their  defeat.  Four 
hundred  men  were  slain  in  the  chase  which  ensued.—- 
Many  were  carried  prisoners  to  Edinburgh,  where  they 
endured  cruel  mocking  with  scourgings,  bonds  and  im- 
prisonment— being  tortured,  hanged,  and  tormented. — 
But  of  them  the  world  was  not  worthy;  though  they 
have  been  branded  with  zeal  without  knowledge,  yet  it 
is  probable  that  the  world  is  indebted  to  them  for  what- 
ever portion  of  rational  liberty  it  enjoys,  for  the  good 
people  continued  the  struggle  until  they  finally  drove 
the  tyrant  from  his  throne. 

Glasgow  occupies  a  highly  convenient  situation  upon 
the  north  bank  of  the  Clyde,  (Shire  of  Lanark,)  similar, 
though  upon  a  smaller  scale,  to  that  of  London,  upon 
the  same  bank  of  the  Thames, — namely,  a  plain,  gently 
ascending  from  the  brink  of  the  river,  covered  with 
streets  ancient  and  modern.  The  bridges  over  river* 
which  skirt  or  rather  intersect  both,  complete  the  re- 
semblance of  the  second  to  the  first  city  of  the  British 
empire. 

The  streets  are  in  general  regular,  while  many  of 
them  may  be  called  fine  ;  and  what  adds  greatly  to  the 
pleasure  experienced  by  a  stranger  in  contemplating 
them,  is,  that  all  are  filled  during  the  whole  day  by 
crowds  of  prosperous  and  happy-looking  people,  who 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  117 

walk  at  a  lively  pace,  and  in  whose  eyes  some  animating 
purpose  of  business  or  of  pleasure  may  constantly  be 
read. 

The  men  of  Glasgow — for  by  this  noble  appellation 
are  they  distinguished  in  popular  phraseology  from  the 
folk  at  Greenock,  and  the  bodies  of  Paisley, — shine  pe- 
culiarly in  the  walk  of  social  hospitality.  There  is  an 
openness  of  heart  about  them  that  at  once  wins  the 
affection  and  admiration  of  strangers.  They  are  pros- 
perous ;  and  prosperity  disposes  them  to  take  the  world 
well.  Before  Glasgow  had  arrived  at  its  present  pitch 
of  prosperity,  many  of  the  earlier  merchants  were 
yonger  sons  of  the  neighboring  gentry.  When  the 
Virginia  and  other  foreign  trade,  therefore,  prospered 
in  their  hands,  and  enabled  them  to  hold  up  their  heads, 
they  did  not  fail  to  comport  themselves  as  men,  who 
had  not  only  a  little  blood,  but  moreover  a  good  deal  of 
money  also.  These  men,  which  formed  a  sort  of  mer- 
cantile aristocracy,  are  no  more  to  be  found — they  are 
completely  superseded  and  lost.  Their  places  are  filled 
by  the  honourable  mechanic,  who  by  industry  and  enter- 
prise, have  rose  from  the  owner  of  one  shuttle  to  be  the 
owner  of  a  million  of  spindles. 

The  cathedral  at  Glasgow  is  the  only  one  in  Scot- 
land that  escaped  the  misguided  zeal  of  the  presbyte- 
rians  at  the  reformation,  (one  in  the  Orkneys  excepted.) 
In  1123  its  foundation  was  laid.  In  1579  the  principle 
of  the  university,  and  the  proiestant  clergy  in  the 
neighbourhood,  having  prevailed  on  the  magistrates  to 
demolish  this  vast  monument  of  the  piety  of  their  fore- 
fathers, a  great  number  of  workmen  were  hired  and  as- 
sembled in  solemn  form  to  proceed  to  the  impious  work, 
when  the  members  of  the  trades  and  incorporations 
of  the  city  flew  to  arms,  took  possession  of  the  build- 


US  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

ing,  and  threatened  with  instant  death  the  first  individual 
who  should  attempt  to  violate  it.  The  magistrates,  to 
preserve  the  peace  of  the  city,  were  under  the  necessity 
of  engaging  to  preserve  the  cathedral. 

The  extensive  burial-ground  which  surrounds  the 
cathedral,  is  almost  completely  floored  over  with  tomb 
stones,  which  lie  flat  upon  the  graves;  and  such  is  their 
closeness,  that  scarcely  a  slip  of  earth  six  inches  in 
breadth  can  any  where  be  seen.  Close  and  compact 
as  this  pavement  appears,  it  has  not  always  been  able 
to  prevent  resurrections,  as  would  appear  from  a  legend 
long  current  in  Glasgow.  Upwards  of  a  hundred  years 
ago,  a  citizen  one  morning  threw  the  whole  town  into 
a  state  of  inexpressible  horror  and  consternation,  by 
giving  out  that  in  passing  at  midnight  through  the  kirk- 
yard,  he  saw  a  neighbour  of  his  own,  lately  buried,  rise 
out  of  his  grave  and  dance  a  jig  with  the  devil,  who 
played  the  air  called  "whistle  o'er  the  lave  o't"  upon 
the  bagpipe.  The  civic  dignitaries  and  ministers  were  so 
sincerely  scandalized  at  this  intelligence,  that  they  sent 
the  town-drummer  through  the  streets  next  morning  to 
forbid  any  one  to  whistle,  sing,  or  play  the  infernal  tune 
in  question. 

Glasgow  is  the  great  emporium  of  the  commerce  and 
manufactures  of  Scotland.  All  around  the  city  is 
planted  cotton,  iron  and  paper  mills,  coal-pits,  and 
whatever  else  is  attendant  on  the  grand  system  of  com- 
merce. The  country  may  be  said  to  be  fairly  mill-rid- 
den, subjugated,  lamed,  and  touzled  by  the  demon  of 
machinery.  Steam,  like  a  night-hag,  kicks  and  spurs 
the  sides  of  oppressed  nature,  and  smoke  rises  on  every 
hand,  as  if  to  express  the  unhappy  old  dames  vexation 
and  fatigue. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Sterling1  Anecdote  of  a  Treasurer,  and  of  a  Primitive 
Martyr — a  Flying  Abbot — Battle  of  Bannockburn — 
Murder  of  King  James  III. 

STERLINOSHIRK  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful,  and 
not  the  least  celebrated  of  all  the  Scottish  counties. — 
It  is  situated  upon  the  isthmus  between  the  friths  of 
Forth  and  Clyde.  The  town  of  Sterling  has  long  been 
celebrated  for  its  schools.  One  of  the  most  remarkable 
features  in  the  town  of  Sterling  is  the  number  of  its 
charitable  institutions.  Three  of  them  are  perpetual 
endowments,  and  afford  abundant  provision  for  the 
comfort  of  a  considerable  number  of  poor  people.  It 
is  supposed  that  every  twelfth  person  in  Sterling  re- 
ceives charity,  and  a  late  writer  has  likened  the  town 
to  a  vast  alms-house.  Notwithstanding  this  circum- 
stance, Sterling  contains  a  great  number  of  substantial 
and  prosperous  merchants.  There  was  in  old  times  a 
sort  of  old-fashioned  burgherism  about  the  better  sort* 
of  the  inhabitants  of  Sterling  which  has  long  since 
passed  away,  along  with  the  primitive  custom  of  im- 
plementing bargains  by  the  wetting  of  thumbs,  and 
such  other  simple  practices.  In  illustration  of  this,  I 
require  only  to  relate  an  authentic  anecdote  of  one  of 
the  city  treasurers  during  the  last  century,  whose  mode 


120  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

of  keeping  his  accounts  was  one  of  the  most  antedilu- 
vian perhaps  ever  known  in  the  modern  world.  This 
venerable  citizen  hung  up  an  old  boot  on  each  side  of 
his  fire-place ;  into  one  of  them  he  put  all  the  money 
which  he  received,  and  into  the  other  the  receipts  or 
vouchers  for  the  money  which  he  paid  away ;  and  he 
thus  balanced  his  accounts  at  the  end  of  the  year  by 
emptying  his  boots,  and  comparing  the  money  left  in 
the  one,  with  the  documents  deposited  in  the  other. 

There  is  a  remarkable  fact  connected  with  the  his- 
tory of  Sterling,  said  to  be  occasioned  by  the  following 
circumstance.  An  early  protestant  martyr  having  been 
storied  out  of  the  town,  and  left  to  die  by  the  way-side, 
was  attacked  by  a  butcher's  wife  in  his  dying  moments, 
who  robbed  him  of  his  clothes.  This  St.  Stephen  of  Ster- 
ling vented  with  his  dying  breath  a  curse  on  the  craft 
to  which  her  husband  belonged,  and  on  all  of  the  craft 
who  should  presume  to  do  business  in  Sterling  for  ever 
after.  From  that  time  the  butchers  of  Sterling  have 
never  done  well.  There  are  now  actually  no  ,butchers 
in  the  town,  and  the  market  is  supplied  by  men  who 
live  in  the  villages  around. 

About  the  year  1503  an  Italian  came  to  Scotland,  and 
gave  out  to  James  IV.  that  he  would  fly  from  the  bat- 
tlements of  Sterling  Castle.  He  fell,  of  course,  and 
broke  (happily) — not  his  neck,  but  his  thigh-bone. — 
The  way  in  which  he  accounted  for  his  want  of  success 
is  highly  curious.  "  The  wings,"  he  said,  "  were  partly 
composed  of  the  feathers  of  dunghill  fowls,  and  were 
by  sympathy  attracted  to  their  native  dunghill — where- 
aa  had  they  consisted  entirely  of  eagles'  feathers,  they 
would  for  the  same  reason  have  been  attracted  towards 
the  heavens.  Thia  man  was  an  abbot. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  121 

Banuockburn  is  a  thriving  village  in  Sterlingshire ; 
it  is  chiefly  supported  by  extensive  manufactories  of 
carpets  and  tartan. 

It  was  near  this  village  that  the  most  important  bat- 
tle ever  fought  between  the  English  and  Scottish  na- 
tions was  decided,  on  the  24th  July,  1314.  Bruce's 
forces  were  stationed  in  three  divisions,  along  the  front 
of  an  eminence  called  the  Gillis-hill.  Close  by  the  way- 
eide  is  a  lage  stone  having  a  hole  in  the  top,  into  which 
the  Scottish  king  inserted  his  standard.  The  English 
army  advanced  from  the  heights  on  the  east,  and  crossed 
a  small  brook  called  the  Bannock.  Before  joining  in 
the  conflict,  Bruce  had  taken  care  to  render  their  ad- 
vance by  no  means  safe.  The  Scottish  army  were  de- 
ficient in  cavalry — the  English  had  abundance.  Bruce 
had  a  great  number  of  iron  cramps  made  with  three 
prongs,  so  constructed,  that  when  they  lay  on  the 
ground,  one  of  the  points  stood  up.  In  the  night  he 
dug  a  line  of  trenches,  long  and  deep.  The  cramps 
were  scattered  in  the  bottom  of  the  trenches,  then 
covered  with  branches  of  trees,  sod  and  turf.  He  next 
stationed  a  body  of  his  choicest  troops  near  by  the 
trenches.  The  English  commenced  the  action  with  a 
shower  of  arrows,  and  a  tremendous  charge  of  cavalry. 
Next  moment  men  and  horses  were  floundering  in 
the  ditch  by  thousands.  The  troops  stationed  for  the 
purpose,  fell  on  with  their  broad-swords,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  there  was  scarcely  a  trooper  left  to  tell  the 
tale.  Such  of  the  horses  as  scrambled  from  the  pits, 
ran  roaring  with  the  pain  of  the  pikes  in  their  feet. — 
They  broke  through  the  ranks  of  their  own  infantry, 
and  threw  them  in  disorder.  The  Scots  fell  on  before 
they  could  rally,  and  an  awful  slaughter  ensued.  The 
English,  however,  being  vastly  superior  in  numbers, 

11 


122  THORBXJRN'S  JOURNAL. 

continued  the  contest,  which  was  still  doubtful,  when  a 
company  of  old  men,  women  and  children,  suttlers  aijd 
wagon  drivers,  who  had  been  left  on  the  back  of  a  hill 
to  take  care  of  the  baggage,  anxious  to  see  how  matters 
were  going  on,  appeared  on  the  top  of  the  hill  with 
flags,  bagpipes,  and  shouting.  The  English,  supposing 
this  to  be  a  reinforcement,  at  once  gave  way,  when  the 
Scotch  obtained  a  complete  victory. 

The  English  left  30,000  men  dead  on  the  field,  be- 
sides 700  knights.  The  Scottish  army  was  enriched 
by  the  spoils  of  the  English  camp,  and  by  the  ransom 
of  their  prisoners,  and  at  the  same  time  completely  es- 
tablishing the  independence  of  their  country. 

About  a  mile  from  the  field  of  Bannockburn,  was 
fought,  in  1488,  the  battle  which  occasioned  the  death 
of  King  James  III.  The  barons  of  Scotland  being  dis- 
satisfied with  the  administration  of  their  monarch,  rose 
in  rebellion  against  him.  A  battle  was  fought,  in  which  the 
king's  party  was  defeated.  Before  the  fate  of  the  day  had 
been  decided,  his  majesty  (who  was  never  very  dis- 
tinguished for  courage)  fled  from  the  field.  His  flight 
was  solitary.  On  attempting  to  cross  the  Bannockburn, 
about  a  mile  from  the  battle  ground,  his  horse  started  at 
the  sight  of  a  pitcher  with  which  a  woman  was  lifting 
up  water  ;  the  king  was  thrown  from  his  charger,  and 
fell  upon  the  ground  in  a  state  of  insensibility.  This 
happened  within  a  few  yards  of  a  mill.  The  miller  and 
his  wife  carried  the  unfortunate  horseman  into  their 
house,  and  though  ignorant  of  his  station,  treated  him 
with  great  humanity.  When  he  had  somewhat  recover- 

,he  called  for  a  priest,  to  whom  as  a  dying  man  he 
might  make  confession.  Being  asked  who  he  was,  he 
replied,  "I  was  your  king  this  morning."  Some  of 
the  malcontents,  who  had  left  the  battle  in  pursuit  of 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  123 

him,  now  came  up  ;  and  as  they  were  about  to  pass, 
the  miller's  wife  came  out,  wringing  her  hands  and 
calling  for  a  confessor  to  the  king.  "  I  am  a  priest," 
said  one  of  the  pursuers  ;  "  lead  me  to  him."  Being 
introduced,  he  found  the  unfortunate  monarch  lying  in 
the  corner  of  the  mill,  covered  with  a  coarse  cloth ; 
and  approaching  on  his  knees,  under  pretence  of  reve- 
rence, inquired  if  his  grace  thought  he  could  recover  if 
he  had  surgical  help.  James  replied  in  the  affirma- 
tive, when  the  ruffian,  pulling  out  a  dagger,  plunged  it 
in  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


Linlithgow — Palace,  Church,  and  Apparition — Bat- 
tle of  Flodden  Field — Assassination  of  the  Regent 
Murray. 

LINLITHGOW,  is  one  of  the  most  respectable  among  all 
the  ancient  boroughs  of  Scotland ;  its  charter  dates  from 
the  reign  of  David  I.,  early  in  the  twelfth  century.  The 
prime  object  of  attention,  is  undoubtedly  the  palace, 
where  the  kings  and  queens  of  Scotland  long  held  their 
courts.  It  was  here  that  Mary  Queen  of  Scots  was 
born.  This  palace  was  generally  used  as  a  jointure 
house  for  the  Queens  of  Scotland.  It  is  said  that  Mary 
of  Guise,  consort  of  James  V.  and  mother  of  Mary,  on 
being  first  brought  to  it,  declared  it  a  much  more 
splendid  house  than  any  of  the  royal  palaces  of 
France. 

Next  to  the  palace,  as  an  object  of  curiosity,  is  the 
church.  This  venerable  and  impressive  structure  may 
be  regarded  as  one  of  the  finest  and  most  entire  speci- 
mens of  Gothic  architecture  in  Scotland. 

The  battle  of  Flodden  Hill  was  perhaps  the  most 
disastrous  that  ever  Scotland  saw.  And  it  was  in  this 
church,  that  James  IV.  and  his  courtiers  were  surprised 
by  an  apparition,  forewarning  him  against  that  mad  ex- 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  125 

pedition.  The  following  account  of  this  strange  occur- 
rence is  given  by  Lindsay  of  Pitscottie,  who  probably 
received  it  from  eye-witnesses.  It  is  remarkable  for 
picturesque  simplicity. — "The  king,"  says  he,  "  came 
to  Linlithgow,  where  he  happened  to  be  for  the  time  at 
the  council,  very  sad  and  dolorous,  making  his  devotion 
to  God,  to  send  him  good  chance  and  fortune  in  his  un- 
dertaking. In  the  mean  time,  there  came  a  man,  clad 
in  a  blue  gown,  in  at  the  kirk  door,  and  had  belted  about 
him  a  roll  of  linen  cloth,  a  pair  of  brotikins  (buskins) 
upon  his  feet  to  the  great  of  his  legs,  with  all  other 
hose  and  cloth  to  conform  thereto  ;  but  he  had  nothing 
on  his  head,  but  long  red  yellow  hair  behind  and  on 
his  cheeks  which  was  down  to  his  shoulders ;  but  his 
forehead  was  bald  and  bare.  He  seemed  to  be  a  man 
of  two-and-fifty  years,  with  a  great  pike-staff  in  his 
hand  ;  and  came  first  forward  among  the  lords,  calling 
for  the  king,  saying,  he  desired  to  speak  with  him. 
While  at  the  last  he  came  to  where  the  king  was  sit- 
ting in  the  desk  at  his  prayers.  He  made  no  reverence 
nor  salutation  to  the  king,  but  leaned  down  on  the  desk 
before  him,  and  spoke  in  this  manner  : — "  Sir  king,  my 
mother  has  sent  me  to  you,  desiring  you  not  to  pass  at 
this  time,  where  you  are  purposed ;  for  if  you  doest,  thou 
•wilt  not  fare  well  in  thy  journey.  Further,  she  bade 
thee  mell  with  no  woman,  nor  use  their  counsel ;  for  if 
thou  do,  thou  wilt  be  confounded,  and  brought  to  shame." 
By  the  time  the  man  had  spoken  these  words,  the 
evening  song  was  near  done.  The  king  paused  on 
these  words,  studying  to  give  him  an  answer.  But,  in 
the  mean  time,  before  the  king's  eyes,  and  in  the  pre- 
sence of  all  the  lords  that  were  about  him,  this  man 
vanished  away,  and  could  no  where  be  apprehended  ; 
but  vanished,  as  if  he  had  been  a  blink  of  the  sun,  or  a 


126  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

whip  of  the  whirlwind.  I  heard,  (says  the  same  writer,) 
Sir  David  Lindsay  the  herald,  and  John  Ingils  the  mar- 
shal, say,  they  were  standing  beside  the  king,  and 
thought  to  have  laid  hands  on  him,  but  he  vanished 
away  betwixt  them,  and  was  no  more  seen.  It  has 
been  supposed,  that  this  was  a  stratagem  of  the  queen, 
in  conjunction  with  the  household  priest  (for  in  those 
days  of  ignorance,  the  priests  wrought  many  miracles) 
to  deter  the  king  from  his  wild  enterprise.  That  part 
of  the  speech,  where  he  give  the  king  so  broad  a  hint 
about  incontinence,  seems  to  imply,  that  the  queen  was 
at  the  root  of  the  matter. 

Omens,  also,  are  said  to  have  occurred  calculated  to 
impress  the  superstitious  public  with  fearful  anticipa- 
tions of  the  fate  of  the  campaign.  Voices  as  of  a 
herald  were  heard  at  midnight  at  the  cross  of  Edin- 
burgh, summoning  the  king  and  his  nobles  by  name 
to  appear  within  sixty  days  at  the  bar  of  Pluto.  Mar- 
garet, his  queen,  also  used  every  plan  and  influence  to 
detain  him,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  When  at  length  he 
set  out  for  Flodden,  she  retired  to  her  room  and  wept 
many  days,  anticipating,  as  the  event  confirmed,  that 
she  would  never  see  him  more.  He  died  on  the  field 
of  battle,  and  was  buried  in  England  ;  so  she  never 
even  saw  his  corpse.  There  lay  slain  on  the  field  the 
king,  thirty  of  the  nobles,  fifty  chiefs,  knights,  and 
men  of  eminence,  besides  ten  thousand  men. 

In  Linlithgow,  too,  you  are  shown  the  house  from 
which  Hamilton  of  Bothwell-haugh  shot  the  Regent 
Murray,  in  1570.  Hamilton  belonged  to  what  was  call- 
ed the  king's  party,  and  had  been  taken  prisoner  by 
Murray  at  the  battle  of  Langside.  The  regent  grant- 
ed mercy  to  himself,  but  confiscated  his  estate,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  the  times,  and  bestowed  it  on  one 


THORBtRN's   JOURNAL.  127 

of  his  favorites.  This  man  seized  the  house,  and  turn- 
ed his  wife  out  of  doors  naked,  in  a  cold  night,  into 
the  open  fields,  where,  before  the  next  morning,  she 
became  furiously  mad.  Hamilton  was  absent.  When 
he  returned  home  and  found  his  wife  a  maniac,  and  his 
house  in  the  possession  of  another,  it  so  inflamed  his 
rage,  that  he  swore  nothing  would  extinguish  the 
fire  but  the  heart's  blood  of  the  regent;  thus  giving 
up  his  whole  soul  to  revenge,  he  followed  him  from 
place  to  place,  watching  an  opportunity  to  strike  the 
bl  ow  :  when  hearing  that  the  regent  was  to  pass  through 
Linlithgow  on  his  way  to  Edinburgh,  he  took  his  stand 
at  a  window,  waiting  his  approach.  Murray  had  got  a 
hint  of  his  danger,  and  resolved  to  ride  quickly  through 
the  city ;  but  just  as  he  came  opposite  the  fatal  spot,  a 
pressure  in  the  crowd  for  a  moment  impeded  his  course, 
when  the  assassin  found  time  to  take  so  sure  an  aim, 
that  he  shot  the  regent  with  a  single  bullet.  The  ball 
passed  through  his  body  and  killed  the  horse  of  a  gen- 
tleman who  rode  on  the  other  side.  Hamilton  mount- 
ed a  fleet  horse,  which  stood  ready  in  a  back  passage, 
and  rode  off. 

He  was  pursued  in  his  flight  by  a  few  of  the  regent's 
friends.  After  both  spur  and  lash  had  failed  him  in 
urging  the  speed  of  his  horse,  and  being  hard  beset,  he 
plunged  his  dagger  into  the  flank  of  the  animal,  and  by 
that  means  succeeded  in  leaping  a  broad  marsh,  which 
intercepted  his  pursuers.  He  made  straight  for  the 
house  of  a  friend,  where  he  found  shelter  for  some 
time.  After  a  short  stay  he  left  Scotland,  and  served 
in  France,  under  the  patronage  of  the  family  of  Guise. 
It  is  recorded  that  an  attempt  was  made  to  engage  him 
to  assassinate  Gaspar  d&  Coligny,  the  famous  admiral 
of  France,  and  buckler  of  the  Huguenot  cause.  But 


128  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

they  mistook  their  man ;  he  was  no  mercenary  trader 
in  blood,  and  rejected  the  offer  with  contempt  and  in- 
dignation. He  had  no  authority,  he  said,  from  Scot- 
land, to  commit  murder  in  France  ;  he  had  avenged  his 
own  just  quarrel,  but  he  would  neither  for  price  nor 
prayer,  avenge  that  of  another  man.  Some  add  that 
he  challenged  the  bearer  on  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Dalkeith — Palace,  Church,  School,  and  Lord  Melville 
— Epitaph  on  Margaret  Scott — Story  of  Margaret 
Dickson. 

DALKEITH,  next  to  Edinburgh  and  Leith,  is  the  most 
considerable  town  in  Mid-Lothian.  The  principal  street 
is  broad  and  spacious,  containing  a  great  number  of 
elegant  houses.  One  of  the  greatest  markets  in  Scot- 
land for  oat-meal,  is  held  here  every  Monday  ;  and  on 
Thursday  there  is  one  chiefly  for  grain.  Here  is  situ- 
ated the  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Buccleugh  ;  it  is  a  large, 
but  not  very  elegant  modern  structure,  and  is  surround- 
ed by  a  beautiful  and  extensive  park.  The  interior  is 
fitted  up  in  a  style  of  the  utmost  splendour,  containing 
many  fine  pictures,  a  conservatory  of  birds,  and  other 
objects  well  worthy  the  attention  of  strangers. 

The  town  contains  no  buildings  of  any  importance 
except  the  church,  which  was  originally  the  chapel  of 
the  castle,  nearly  five  hundred  years  ago.  It  is  a  Gothic 
building  of  very  ordinary  workmanship.  The  east  end 
contains  the  burying  vault  of  the  Buccleugh  family. 
Here  lies  buried  Mary  Scott,  (known  in  popular  song 
by  the  appellation  of  The  Flower  of  Yarrow.)  It  is 
said  she  was  a  woman  of  great  beauty,  with  skin  so 


130  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

transparent  that  the  blood  could  be  seen  circulating 
through  her  veins. 

The  High-school  in  Dalkeith  has  long  been  famed 
for  its  superior  teachers.  The  present  incumbent,  Mr. 
Steel,  is  a  profound  scholar,  and  a  gentleman  in  every 
sense  of  the  word.  This  school  has  had  the  honour  of 
educating  some  men  of  great  distinction  in  the  po- 
litical as  well  as  the  literary  world — in  particular,  the 
late  Lord  Melville.  It  is  still  remembered  to  the  ho- 
nour of  that  great  man,  that  he  kept  up,  throughout  the 
whole  course  of  his  splendid  career,  a  familiar  ac- 
quaintance or  correspondence  with  all  his  early  school- 
fellows, however  inferior  to  himself  in  point  of  rank 
and  fortune,  if  otherwise  meritorious. 

The  parish  contains  about  5000  inhabitants,  a  gaol, 
and  seven  places  of  worship.  The  inhabitants  are  a 
set  of  intelligent,  social  and  comfortable  living  bodies, 
great  sticklers  about  religion  and  politics,  much  given 
to  whiggery,  but  always  abounding  in  hospitality, 
charity,  and  brotherly  love.  This  being  my  native 
place,  I  speak  from  experience.  From  my  earliest  re- 
collections, they  were  ever  opposed  to  the  union  of  the 
two  countries,  and  until  of  late  they  cherished  a  most 
genuine  dislike  to  Englishmen.  It  was  customary  for 
a  troop  of  English  horse  dragoons  to  lie  quartered  in 
this  town.  Frequent  quarrels  took  place  between  them 
and  the  towns-folk.  In  several  instances  the  whole 
town,  men  and  women,  rose  and  drove  the  soldiers  away 
to  seek  refuge  in  another  city  ;  and  so  famous  had  they 
become  in  these  rencounters,  that  to  threaten  to  give  a 
person  a  mugful  (handful)  of  Dalkeith  meal,  was  un- 
derstood as  a  most  effectual  knock-down  argument. 

I  remember  to  have  seen,  in  my  school-boy  rambles 
through  the  church-yard,  the  following  epitaph : 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  131 

On 

Margaret  Scott, 

Who  died  9th  February,  1738,   aged  125  years. 
Stop,  passenger,  until  my  life  you've  read, 
The  living  may  get  knowledge  by  the  dead  : 
Five  times  five  years  I  liv'd  a  virgin  life, 
Teh  times  five  years  I  was  a  virtuous  wife, 
Ten  times  five  years  I  liv'd  a  widow  chaste, 
Now  tired  of  this  mortal  world  I  rest. 
I  from  my  cradle  to  my  grave  have  seen 
Eight  mighty  kings  of  Scotland,  and  a  queen ; 
Four  times  five  years  the  common  wealth  I  saw, 
Ten  times  the  subjects  rose  against  the  law  ; 
Twice  did  I  see  old  prelacy  pull'd  down, 
And  twice  the  cloak  was  humbled  by  the  gown. 
An  end  of  Steuart's  race  I  saw  no  more  ; 
I  saw  my  country*  sold  for  English  ore, — 
Such  desolations  in  my  time  have  been, 
I  have  an  end  of  all  perfection  seen. 

In  my  late  visit  to  my  native  place  I  looked  among 
the  tombstones  for  this,  but  it  could  not  be  found — time 
and  change  no  doubt  has  been  its  ruin.  The  epitaph  is 
still  preserved,  however,  in  a  collection  of  about  one 
thousand  sepulchral  curiosities,  taken  from  monuments 
and  gravestones — printed  in  1823. 

Musselburgh  is  the  next  town  of  note  in  Mid-Lothian. 
It  derives  its  name  from  a  large  bank  of  muscles  on  the 
sea  shore  in  its  neighbourhood.  Here  the  Romans 
built  a  fort  and  a  town  in  the  twelfth  century.  This 
harbour  was  the  most  important  that  was  held  by  these 


*  Scotland,  refering  to  the  Union. 


THORBURN'S    JOURNAL. 

invaders  on  the  south  side  of  the  Forth,  and  was  the 
termination  of  one  of  their  roads,  the  traces  of  which 
are  still  to  be  seen. 

In  the  year  1728  a  sermon  was  preached  in  the  old 
church  at  Musselburgh,  upon  an  occasion  so  memora- 
ble that  it  cannot  fail  to  interest  the  majority  of  readers. 
A  woman  by  the  name  of  Margaret  Dickson,  the  wife 
of  a  mariner  who  had  been  at  sea  above  a  twelve-month, 
having  a  child  in  the  mean  time,  she,  to  hide  her  shame, 
took  its  life.  For  this  crime  she  was  tried,  condemned, 
and  duly  (as  was  thought)  executed  in  Edinburgh. — 
When  the  dreadful  ceremony  was  over,  poor  Maggy's 
friends  put  her  body  into  a  chest,  and  drove  it  away. 
On  the  road  for  Musselburgh,  about  two  miles  from 
town,  they  stopped  at  a  tavern  where  they  remained 
about  half  an  hour  at  dinner.  On  coming  out  of  the 
house,  how  much  were  they  surprised  to  see  their 
friend  sitting  up  in  the  chest,  having  been  restored  to 
life,  it  was  supposed,  by  the  motion  of  the  cart.  They 
took  her  home  that  night  to  Musselburgh,  where  she 
soon  entirely  recovered.  As  she  had  suffered  the  pe- 
nalty of  the  law,  no  one  dared  to  molest  her.  On  the 
succeeding  Sunday,  she  was  able  to  attend  public  wor- 
ship, when  the  minister  delivered  a  discourse  applicable 
to  her  case.  After  some  time  her  husband  returned, 
when  they  were  again  married,  she  having  been  dead 
in  law.  She  ever  after  went  by  the  title  of  half-hangit 
Maggie.  This  is  a  simple  tale  of  truth. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  Parting  Scene — the  Grave  of  my  Mother — the  World 
of  Spirits. 

ON  a  late  visit  to  my  native  village,  after  an  original 
absence  of  forty  years,  when  the  day  of  separation 
again  drew  near,  I  accepted  an  invitation  to  a  farewell 
dinner.  It  was  on  the  last  day  of  the  year  1833.  The 
company  was  select,  consisting  of  twenty-five.  The 
majority  of  them  had  been  my  school-fellows^/ify  years 
ago.  The  exit  of  the  old,  and  commencement  of  the 
new  year,  is  a  time  of  high  festivity  all  over  Scotland. 
It  begins  on  the  last,  and  continues  for  the  five  or  six 
first  days  of  the  new  year.  They  are  called,  by  way  of 
distinction,  the  daft  days.  By-the-by,  it  is  a  curious 
trait  in  the  character  of  the  Romish  church  ;  when  we 
look  back  through  the  mists  of  fourteen  centuries,  we 
will  find  that  most  of  those  days  now  called  crazy  (daft) 
were  originally  introduced  by  the  priests  under  the 
name  of  holy  days.  Hence,  every  idle  or  rejoicing  day 
is  termed  holy,  though  they  are  the  most  wicked  days 
of  all  the  year.  The  4th  of  July  is  called  a  holy  day, 
and  yet  perhaps  one  million  of  people  get  drunk  that 
day,  that  never  get  drunk  till  it  comes  round  again.  In 
all  the  popish  countries,  near  the  tenth  of  their  time  is 
12 


134  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

spent  in  hearing  mass  in  the  morning,  and  frolicking  in 
the  afternoon.  The  carnival  at  Venice  may  be  called 
a  week  of  wicked  holy  days.  In  Edinburgh,  New-Year's 
day  is  a  real  crazy  (daft)  day.  I  remember  one  of  the 
daft  tricks  they  used  to  play  on  that  day  fifty  years  ago, 
which  was  for  the  men  to  kiss  every  woman  that  they 
met  in  the  street,  no  matter  whether  gentle  or  simple— 
if  they  appeared  in  public  they  must  pay  the  penalty. 
There  was  no  tyranny  in  this  however ;  the  thing  waa 
very  easily  got  over — the  ladies  who  wished  to  be  kissed 
walked  out,  and  those  who  would  rather  be  excused 
staid  at  home.  I  was  in  Edinburgh  last  daft-day  week, 
but  I  find  this  custom  is  gone  with  the  days  before  the 
flood.  But  to  return  to  my  school-fellows  at  dinner. 
The  room  where  we  sat  was  within  one  hundred  yards 
of  the  identical  school-house  into  which  we  had  so 
often  trudged,  with  lingering  step  and  rueful  face,  and 
spirits  sunk  down  to  our  heels  ;  and  from  whence,  when 
dismissed,  we  used  to  bound  in  all  the  noise  of  frantic 
mirth.  There  it  stood,  with  the  same  low  rough  stone 
walls,  short  and  narrow  windows,  leaden  sashes  and 
small  triangular  panes  of  glass,  and  its  venerable  roof 
covered  with  thatch.  This  house,  I  think,  must  have 
been  built  before  the  year  one,  (viz.  1701,) — indeed  I 
could  not  perceive  on  it  the  march  of  time.  I  could 
not  see  that  the  house  looked  a  whit  older  than  it  did 
fifty  years*  ago.  It  stands  in  what  they  call  a  close  in 
Scotch,  or  alley.  Neither  could  I  perceive  that  any  of 
the  buildings  adjoining  had  either  been  pulled  down  or  al- 
tered ;  and  herein  lies  the  essence  of  pleasure — for  when 


*  At  this  time  no  other  books  were  then  used   in  this  school, 
but  the  shorter  Catechism,  Spelling  Book,  and  Bible. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  135 

you  revisit  the  place  of  your  birth  after  along  absence,  a 
new  generation  stares  at  you  with  a  look  of  something 
like  alarm.  You  are  a  stranger  at  your  own  door.  You 
look  round  ;  there  stands  the  same  venerable  church 
and  school-house,  and  may  be  some  ancient  oak,  under 
whose  limbs,  in  youth,  you  whiled  away  the  long  and 
sultry  summer  day.  You  hail  them  as  friends.  You  talk 
to  yourself  and  the  moss  ;  and  the  ivy  on  their  darken- 
ed walls  seems  to  respond  to  your  whisper.  This  ex- 
quisite feeling  is  only  enjoyed  by  him  whose  birth- 
place is  a  village,  a  small  deserted  village,  where  five 
hundred  souls  live  as  one  family,  where  each  one  knows 
and  is  known — for  in  large  cities,  man  is  a  stranger 
among  strangers.  I  stood  on  my  village  green.  I  knew 
no  body,  but  every  body  knew  me.  I  sat  at  the  table, 
the  friends  of  my  youth  on  each  side.  I  tried  to  trace 
in  their  healthy  sun-burned  faces  some  lines  of  the 
school-boys'  countenance.  They  were  gone, and  replaced 
by  the  wrinkles  of  time — the  flowing  locks  were  shorn, 
and  on  their  bald  foreheads  sat  the  snows  of  age. 

We  played  over  again  the  games,  the  frolics,  and 
pranks  of  our  school-boy  days.  It  was  altogether  a  feast 
of  reason  and  a  flow  of  soul :  no  debauch,  for  though 
the  whisky  punch  stood  on  the  table,  it  was  tasted  in 
moderation.  We  parted  with  auld  lang  syne,  and  here 
it  was  acted  up  to  nature. 

We  twa  had  played  aboot  the  braes,  when  simmer  days 

were  fine, 
But,   we  had  wandered  mony  a  weary  fit,  since  auld 

lang  syne  ; 
And,  we  twa  had  paddled  in  the  burn,  from  morning 

time,  till  nine, 
But  seas  between  us  bre'd,  had  roared,  since  auld  lang 

syne. 


136  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Most  of  those  boys  had  rose  from  poverty  to  wealth 
and  respectability  by  their  own  exertions.  I  observed 
they  were  chiefly  among  those  that  we  called  wicked 
chaps  at  school. 

In  the  house  of  my  father,  I  enjoyed  all  that  heart 
could  wish  in  like  circumstances.  The  house  stands 
on  the  same  spot,  though  somewhat  enlarged.  There 
sat  my  worthy  and  venerated  father,  in  the  same  room 
I  last  parted  with  him  ;  his  faculties  as  bright,  and  his 
health  better  than  it  was  fifty  years  ago.  Though 
blind  with  age,  (having  seen  the  frosts  of  ninety-one 
winters.)  he  knew  my  voice  before  he  heard  my  name. 
There  stood  the  same  eight-day  clock,  which  has  given 
note  of  time  to  the  family  as  long  back  as  my  memory 
serves  ;  there  lay  the  same  old  family  Bible,  with  the 
book  containing  the  simple  but  beautiful  version  of  the 
Scottish  psalms.  Much  of  the  furniture  was  the  same — 
in  short,  I  was  at  home.  I  would  not  have  exchanged 
my  feelings  at  this  moment,  for  all  the  pomp  and  pa- 
geantry of  kings  since  the  world  began. 

On  a  gray,  calm,  cloudy  afternoon,  when  the  days 
were  short,  and  darkness  covering  the  land  by  4  o'clock, 
I  walked  out  to  visit  the  grave  of  my  mother  for  the 
last  time.  The  grave  of  my  mother  !  Of  all  the  sounds 
which  issue  from  the  tomb,  there  is  not  one  more  solemn, 
nor  one  which  more  keenly  penetrates  the  soul  than 
this.  The  grave  of  my  mother  /—though  your  mother 
may  have  shut  her  eyes  in  death,  as  you  first  opened 
your' s  to  see  the  light  of  the  sun  ;  trough  you  may  have 
spent  a  half  of  a  century  in  thoughtlessness  and  folly  ; 
though  you  have  seen  perils  by  land,  and  perils  on  the 
great  deep  ;  though  you  fear  not  God  nor  regard  man  ; 
yet  stand  by  the  grave  of  your  mother,  (on  her  dust 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  137 

you  dare  not  tread,  nature  forbids !)  and  your  heart 
will  melt  like  softened  wax. 

In  a  lonely  church-yard,*  remote  from  mortals  dwell- 
ing on  this  gloomy  winter's  day,  I  stood  by  the  grave 
of  my  mother.  Her  image  I  could  not  recall,  (as  she 
left  this  world,  before  I  knew  my  right  hand  from  my 
left.)  But,  as  I  stooped  over  the  sod,  which  covered 
that  breast  from  whence  I  drew  the  first  nourishment 
of  life,  I  wondered  with  myself  why  I  should  still  weep, 
though  that  sod  has  been  wet  with  the  snow  of  sixty 
winters — it  was  nature  claiming  her  own.  I  was  lost ! 
The  spot  where  I  stood  was  consecrated  ground,  and 


*  In  this  solitary  place  of  sculls  is  the  burial-ground  for  the 
parish  of  Newbottle.  Here  a  monastery  was  founded  some  time 
in  the  twelfth  century,  by  King  David  I.,  for  a  community  of  Cis- 
tercian monks.  These  monks  were  the  first  persons  that  discover- 
ed coal  in  Scotland,  and  used  it  as  a  fuel.  The  monastery  or 
abbey  is  still  in  excellent  repair,  being  the  residence  of  the  Mar- 
quis of  Lothian.  But  the  place  is  truly  a  deserted  village.  In 
my  young  days  it  was  a  place  of  considerable  note,  being  chiefly 
occupied  by  weavers  and  market  gardeners  ;  now  it  looks  as  soli- 
tary as  the  ruins  of  Babylon  itself — no  sound  to  be  heard,  save 
the  grinding  of  a  lonely  mill,  and  the  chattering  of  the  swallow 
and  sparrow  on  the  house-top.  Fifty  years  ago  it  contained  a 
row  of  houses  about  one  fourth  of  a  mile  in  length  ;  now  I  did 
not  observe  more  than  a  dozen  of  chimnies,  from  whence  issued 
smoke.  In  this  lone  land  of  solemn  desolation  is  the  humble  grave 
of  my  mother. 

Returning  from  this  Arrow  house  of  mourning,  I  spied  the  sex- 
ton opening  an  old  grave.  He  was  digging  through  whole  rows 
of  generations,  the  place  having  been  a  cemetery  for  probably  six 
hundred  years.  I  stood  about  ten  minutes  in  conversation,  and 
counted  seven  sculls  thrown  up  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
When  the  dead,  both  small  and  great,  shall  spring  from  these 
tombs,  how  awful  will  be  the  sight !  The  very  dust  we  tread  en 
once  lived. 

12* 


138  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL, 

my  spirit  was  communing  with  hers,  perhaps  it  wag 
hovering  around. 

Friends  departed,  are  angels  sent  from  heaven.  Are 
they  not  all  ministering  spirits?  Then  why  may  not  a 
departed  mother  be  sent  to  watch  over  her  orphan  child. 
In  my  childish  days  I  used  to  devour  a  nursery  story 
of  a  mother  who  died  and  left  seven  young  children, 
and  as  the  story  went,  her  ghost  was  seen  every  night 
to  enter  the  room,  and  straighten  the  bed  clothes  over 
her  sleeping  babes.  We  have  all  felt  the  influence  of 
these  nursery  tales  ;  this  one  made  a  strong  impression 
on  my  mind.  Oft  when  put  to  bed  in  my  dark  and  soli- 
tary room,  have  I  wished  most  fervently  that  my  mo- 
ther would  appear  in  her  white  robes,  that  I  might  see 
her  face — fear  entered  not  into  this  feeling.  I  knew  if 
she  came  it  would  be  in  love,  and  my  soul  longed  to 
behold  her  countenance.  I  think  this  childish  fancy 
has  had  a  salutary  influence  on  my  after  life.  I  remem- 
ber, as  I  grew  in  years,  (far  up,  I  am  not  yet,)  if  my 
way  at  night  lay  through  a  church-yard,  by  a  ghostly 
castle  or  on  haunted  ground,  I  had  no  fear.  I  thought 
if  a  ghost  came,  it  would  be  my  mother,  and  I  rather 
wished  for,  than  dreaded  the  sight.  Since  then  I  have 
had  no  trouble  about  the  inhabitants  of  the  invisible 
wnrld. 

In  1798,  when  death  reigned  triumphant  through  our 
city,  have  I  watched  all  night  alone  in  a  solitary  room, 
in  a  deserted  house,  and  almost  dejarted  street,  hearing 
nothing,  save  the  heavy  groans,  ine  short  breath,  and 
the  death  rattle  of  a  fellow-mortal  just  entering  the 
confines  of  eternity.  I  doubted  not  but  spirits  were  in 
attendance  there,  but  hoped  and  prayed  they  were 
ministering  spirits,  ready  to  convey  a  ransomed  soul 
lo  worlds  of  bliss.  The  devil  might  also  be  there, 


THOKBURN'S  JOURNAL.  139 

eagerly  watching  for  his  prey.  But  I  knew  that  the  eye 
of  Omnipotence  was  there  ;  he  has  taken  the  prey 
from  the  mighty,  and  all  the  devils  in  hell  dare  not 
move  a  finger  without  his  permission. 

Some  will  smile  at  this  world  of  spirits  of  whom  I 
speak — say  it  is  all  a  flight  of  fancy,  or  the  wandering 
of  a  distempered  brain.  It  is  very  probable  it  may  be 
BO,  for  I  do  think  our  brains  are  all  more  or  less  dis- 
tempered. We  think  we  are  wise,  (a  symptom  of  our 
distemper,)  though  we  are  born  as  ignorant  as  a  set  of 
wild  young  jackass  colts.  But  if  we  are  to  believe  no- 
thing, except  we  can  demonstrate  the  truth  of  its  ex- 
istence by  the  sense  of  sight  or  touch,  we  might  almost 
doubt  our  own  existence.  Were  it  not  for  the  power 
of  the  microscope,  thousands  of  stars  would  blaze  un- 
seen, and  the  man  who  would  assert  that  millions  of 
live  animals  sport  in  every  spoonful  of  spring  water  we 
swallow,  would  be  placed  in  the  madhouse.  When 
therefore  we  know  that  earth,  air,  and  sea,  are  full  of 
living  beings  inferior  to  us  in  power,  and  unseen  to  our 
natural  sight,  why  then  should  it  be  thought  a  thing 
incredible  to  us,  that  God  has  made  beings  of  power 
and  intelligence  far  superior  to  us,  though  to  our  eyes 
unseen  ? 

This  doctrine  of  invisible  messengers,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  is  a  very  pleasing  revery,  the  belief  of  which 
I  would  not  exchange  for  a  world.  To  think  they  are 
hovering  round  us  in  our  path,  watching  our  pillow  by 
night,  and  whispering  on  our  senses  while  we  sleep,  is 
a  consolation  most  devoutly  to  be  thankful  for.  What  a 
poor  cold  milk-and-water  system  that  doctrine  of 
infidelity  mustbe,  believing  nothing  but  what  it  can  com- 
prehend, while  at  the  same  time  we  cannot  comprehend 
the  machinery  of  our  own  frame. 


140  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Children  begin  to  reason  before  they  are  four  years 
old;  and  at  that  age  they  know  nothing  of  the  world's 
deceptions,  but  explicitly  believe  whatever  their  parents 
tell  them.  Were  parents  and  nurses  therefore,  instead 
of  filling  their  minds  with  frightful  stories  about  ghosts 
and  powerful  wicked  devils,  to  inform  them  that  God 
who  made  the  devils  is  stronger  than  they;  that  they  can- 
not hurt  any  one  without  his  permission  ;  and  that  he 
also  made  good  angels,  who  are  more  powerful  than  the 
devils,  and  that  he  sends  them  to  guard  good  children 
when  they  sleep  and  when  they  wake,  and  if  fire  or 
floods  surround  them  in  the  night,  his  angels  will  wake 
them  up  and  deliver  them — this  would  save  them  from 
that  slavish  fear,  which  makes  them  afraid  to  walk  in 
the  dark,  and  to  tremble  at  their  own  shadow.  It  would 
also  give  them  a  more  pleasing  impression  of  the  cha- 
racter of  their  Maker,  whose  name  is  Love,  and  inspire 
them  with  courage  as  they  grew  up,  to  go  forward  in 
the  way  of  duty,  encountering  the  troubles  and  dangers 
of  life  with  confidence,  knowing  that  without  divine 
permission,  no  evil  can  befall  them,  or  plague  come  near 
their  dwelling. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Fisherrow — Men,  Manners,  and  Women  there — St. 
Nonan's  Church — Largo — Birth-place  and  Sketch  of 
Alexander  Selkirk,  alias  Robinson  Crusoe. 

FISHERROW  is  connected  with  Musselburgh  by  three 
or  more  bridges.  The  chief  class  of  the  population  con- 
sists of  fishermen.  The  numerous  female  relations  of 
these  men  form  a  peculiar  people,  and  are  so  remark- 
able in  every  respect,  that  they  must  not  be  passed  over 
without  notice.  They  are  called  fish  wives  ;  their  em- 
ployment is  the  transportation  of  fish  from  the  harbour 
of  their  village  to  Edinburgh,  a  distance  of  six  miles. 
They  usually  carry  loads  of  from  1  to  300  weight  in 
willow  baskets  upon  their  backs,  evincing  thereby  a 
degree  of  masculine  strength,  which  is  not  unaccom- 
panied by  manners  equally  masculine.  There  is  in 
Fisherrow,  indeed,  a  complete  reversal  of  the  duties 
of  the  sexes — the  husband  being  often  detained  at 
home  by  bad  weather,  and  employing  himself  as  nurse  ; 
while  the  wife  is  endeavouring  at  Edinburgh,  to  win 
the  means  of  maintaining  the  family.  A  woman  of 
Fisherrow  would  have  but  little  cause  of  boasting,  if 
she  could  not,  by  this  species  of  industry,  gain  money 
sufficient  to  maintain  a  domestic  establishment  inde- 


142  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

pendent  of  the  exertions,  whatever  they  might  be  of 
her  husband.  On  hearing  of  any  such  effeminate  per- 
son being  about  to  be  married,  it  is  customary  for  the 
thorough-paced  fish  wives  to  exclaim,  in  a  tone  of 
sovereign  contempt,  "Her !  what  wad  she  do  wi'  a  man, 
that  canna  win*  a  man's  bread?" 

These  singular  amazons  referred  too,  dress  themselves 
in  a  style,  which,  if  coarse,  must  also  be  not  uncostly  ; 
they  are  unable  to  wear  any  head  dress,  except  a  nap- 
kin, on  account  of  the  necessity  of  supporting  their 
back  burdens  by  a  broad  belt,  which  crosses  the  fore- 
head, and  has  to  be  slipped  over  the  head  every  time 
they  take  off  their  merchandise. 

They  usually  wear,  however,  a  voluminous  and  truly 
Flemish  quantity  of  petticoats,  with  a  jerkin  of  blue 
cloth,  and  several  fine  napkins  inclosing  the  neck  and 
bosom.  Their  numerous  petticoats  are  of  different 
qualities  and  colours  ;  and  it  is  customary,  while  two 
or  three  hang  down,  to  have  as  many  or  more  bundled 
up  over  the  haunches,  so  as  to  give  a  singularly  bulky 
and  sturdy  appearance  to  the  figure.  Thirty  years  ago 
they  wore  no  shoes  nor  stockings,  but  cannot  now  be 
impeached  with  that  fault.  They  have  strong  black 
leather  shoes,and  generally  knit  ivhitewovsted  stockings, 
which  appeared  to  have  been  put  on  clean  every  morn- 
ing. Indeed,  I  saw  no  class  in  Scotland,  whose  condi- 
tion seemed  to  have  so  much  improved,  (since  I  left  the 
country  40  years  ago,)  as  that  of  thefisherwomen.  I  was 
told  that  it  was  mainly  owing  to  the  introduction  among 
them  of  Sunday  schools.  It  is  rather  remarkable,  that 
those  vain  philosophers,  who  have  been  writing  for 


*  Win,  Scotch— earn,  English. 


THORBVRN'S  JOURNAL.  143 

centuries  and  searching  for  plans  whereby  to  improve 
the  condition  of  man,  thought  not  of  this.  The  experi- 
ment never  yet  has  failed,  (where  there  lived  a  com- 
munity who  obeyed  not  God  nor  feared  man  ;  but  who 
lived  in  filth,  rags  and  drunkenness,)  but,  as  soon  as 
you  introduce  among  them  the  order  of  the  Sabbath, 
and  the  sober  decencies  of  religion,  they  are  temper- 
ate, clean,  clothed,  and  sitting  in  their  right  mind,  hear- 
ing his  word.  Formerly,  they  spent  their  week's  wages 
in  the  tavern.  This  by  the  way. 

The  ancient  little  fishing  village  of  St.  Nonans,  in 
Fifeshire,  is  worthy  of  a  visit,  on  account  of  its  parish 
church,  which  is  a  curious  little  old  Gothic  edifice,  situ- 
ated so  near  to  the  sea,  as  to  be  occasionally  wet  by  its 
foam,  until  lately  when  it  underwent  a  thorough  repair. 
It  exhibited  a  complete  suit  of  church  furniture,  which, 
neither  in  the  pulpit,  nor  in  the  galleries,  nor  in  the 
ground  pews,  had  experienced  for  nearly  two  hundred 
years  the  least  repair,  or  even  been  once  touched  by 
the  brush  of  the  painter.  A  small  old-fashioned  model 
of  a  ship,  full  rigged,  hung  from  the  roof,  like  a  chan- 
delier, as  an  appropriate  emblem  of  the  generally  mari- 
time character  of  the  parishoners.  In  former  times,  the 
bell  which  rang  the  people  of  St.  Nonans  to  public 
worship  hung  upon  a  tree  in  the  church-yard,  and  was 
removed  every  year  during  the  herring  fishing  season, 
because  the  fishermen  had  a  superstitious  notion  that 
ihe  fish  were  scared  away  from  the  coast  by  its  noise. 

Largo  is  an  extensive  fishing  village  in  Fifeshire,  and 
is  remarkable  as  the  birth-place  of  Alexander  Selkirk, 
the  prototype  of  Robinson  Crusoe.  The  real  history 
of  this  man  has  been  already  often  printed,  but  the  fol- 
lowing additional  memorabilia  respecting  him,  picked 
up  at  a  late  visit  to  the  place,  will  perhaps  be  new  to 
most  readers. 


144  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

Alexander  Selkirk  was  bom  in  the  year  1676,  (one 
century  prior  to  the  American  declaration  of  indepen- 
dence.) His  father,  like  almost  all  the  men  of  the  vil- 
lage, was  a  fisherman,  and  had  another  son  who  carried 
on  the  line  of  his  family.  There  are  many  people  of 
this  rare  name  in  the  village,  but  this  particular  family 
has  now  ended  in  a  daughter,  who  being  a  married 
woman,  has  lost  the  name.  Alexander  is  remembered 
to  have  been  a  youth  of  a  high  spirit,  and  uncontrolable 
temper — to  which,  in  all  probability,  we  are  to  attribute 
the  circumstance  of  his  being  left  on  the  island  of  Juan 
Fernandez.  To  a  trivial  family  quarrel,  resulting  from 
this  bad  quality  on  his  part,  the  world  is  indebted  for 
the  admirable  fiction  which,  for  a  century  past,  has 
charmed  the  romantic  imaginations  of  all  its  youth. 

The  following  is  the  accredited  family  narrative  of 
that  event.  Alexander  came  home  one  evening,  and 
feeling  thirsty,  raised  a  pipkin  of  water  to  his  mouth 
in  order  to  take  a  drink;  it  turned  out  to  be  salt  water, 
and  he  immediately  replaced  the  vessel  on  the  ground 
with  an  exclamation  of  disgust.  This  excited  the  hu- 
mour of  his  brother,  who  was  sitting  by  the  fire,  and 
with  whom  he  had  not  lately  been  on  good  terms.  The 
laugh  and  the  jibe  were  met  on  Alexander's  part  with  a 
blow.  Both  brothers  immediately  closed  in  a  struggle, 
in  which  Alexander  had  the  advantage.  Their  father 
attempted  to  interpose,  but  the  offended  youth  was  not 
to  be  prevented  by  even  parental  authority  from  taking 
his  revenge.  A  general  family  combat  now  took  place, 
some  siding  with  the  one  brother,  and  some  with  the 
other  ;  and  peace  was  not  restored  till  the  whole  town, 
alarmed  by  the  noise,  was  gathered  in  scandalized 
wonderment  to  the  spot.  Matters  such  as  this  were  then 
deemed  fit  for  the  attention  of  the  kirk-session.  Alex- 


TKORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  145 

ander  Selkirk,  as  the  prime  cause  of  the  quarrel,  was 
summoned  befo-re  that  venerable  body  of  old  women, 
and  commanded  to  expiate  his  offence  by  standing  a 
certain  number  of  Sundays  in  the  church  as  a  penitent, 
to  be  rebuked  by  the  clergyman.*  He  at  first  utterly 
refused  to  submit  to  so  degrading  an  exhibition  of  his 
person,  but  the  entreaties  of  his  friends,  and  the  fear 
of  excommunication,  at  length  prevailed  over  his  noble 
nature.  He  submitted  to  the  mortifying  censures  of  the 
church  in  all  their  contemptible  details.  No  sooner, 
however,  had  the  term  of  his  punishment  expired,  than, 
overwhelmed  with  shame  and  disgust,  he  left  his  native 
town,  and  sought  on  the  broad  ocean  the  sea-room 
which  had  been  denied  to  his  restless  spirit  at  home. 
After  an  absence  of  seversfl  years,  during  which  he  had 
endured  the  solitude  of  Juan  Fernandez,  he  returned 
to  his  native  town.  He  brought  with  him  the  gun, 
sea-chest,  and  cup,  which  he  had  used  on  the  uninhabit- 
ed island.  He  spent  nine  months  in  the  bosom  of  his 
family — then  went  away  on  another  voyage,  and  was 
never  more  heard  of. 

The  house  in  which  this  remarkable  person  was  born 
still  exists.  It  is  an  ordinary  cottage  of  one  story  and  a 
garret ;  it  has  never  been  out  of  the  possession  of  his 
family  since  his  time.  The  present  occupant  is  his 
great-grandniece,  Catherine  Selkirk,  or  Gillies,  who 
inherited  it  from  her  father,  the  late  John  Selkirk,  who 


*  In  ray  youth,  I  have  seen  a  young  man  and  woman  stand  up 
before  a  whole  congregation,  and  receive  a  rebuket  for  bundling^ 
three  months  before  marriage. 

t  A  custom,  or  relic,  of  popery. 

13 


146  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

was  grandson  to  the  brother,  with  whom  Alexander  had 
the  quarrel,  and  died  so  late  as  October  1825,  a.t  the 
age  of  74.  Mrs.  Gillies,  who  has  very  properly  called 
one  of  her  children  after  her  celebrated  kinsman,  to 
prevent,  as  she  says,  the  name  from  going  out  of  the 
family,  is  very  willing  to  show  the  chest  and  cup  to 
strangers  applying  for  a  sight  of  them.  The  chest  is 
a  very  strong  one,  of  the  ordinary  size,  but  composed 
of  peculiarly  fine  wood,  jointed  in  a  remarkably  com- 
plicated manner,  and  convex  at  top.  The  cup  is  formed 
out  of  a  cocoanut,  the  small  segment  cut  from  the 
mouth  supplying  a  foot ;  it  was  recently  mounted  with 
silver,  at  the  expense  of  the  late  Mr.  A.  Constable,  the 
celebrated  bookseller  in  Edinburgh.  The  gun,  with 
which  the  adventurer  killed  his  game,  and  which  is 
said  to  be  seven  feet  long,  has  been  alienated  from  the 
family,  and  is  now  in  possession  of  Major  Lumsdale. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A  Chapter  of  Incidents  out  of  place — Monument  of  Lady 
Nightingale — my  Trunk  lost  and  recovered — Ser- 
vants in  London — a  Noble  Party — the  King  and 
Scotch  Cook. 

IN  the  chapel  of  St.  John  and  St.  Michael,  (West- 
minster Abbey,)  is  the  monument  of  Lady  Nightingale. 
It  was  executed  by  Roubiliac,  and  is  remarkable  for  the 
beauty  of  its  workmanship.  A  fine  figure  of  death  is 
coming  out  of  a  tomb  ready  to  hurl  his  dart.  The  hus- 
band is  represented  as  standing  between  the  monster 
and  his  beautiful  wife,  endeavouring  to  ward  off  the 
blow.  Itisvain  !  This  old  experienced  marksman  never 
missed — never  was  bribed  by  worth,  youth,  or  beauty  ; 
the  dart  strikes  the  vital  spot — she  sinks— she  dies  !  It 
is  a  very  interesting  sight. 

On  the  1st  of  March,  at  2  P.  M.,  I  left  Liverpool  on 
the  Manchester  rail-road,  on  my  way  to  London,  where 
I  intended  to  ship.  When  we  pay  for  our  seat  in  the 
car,  we  receive  a  ticket,  bearing  the  number  of  the 
seat  we  are  to  occupy.  The  car  contains  six  seats  in 
the  form  of  an  arm  chair,  and  are  numbered.  In  my 
front  sat  a  respectable  looking  gentleman,  whom,  from 
his  dress,  I  presumed  belonged  to  the  society  of 
Friends.  We  soon  entered  into  conversation.  Our  jour- 


148  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

ney  from  Liverpool  to  Manchester,  a  distance  of  30 
miles,  occupied  one  hour  and  thirty  minutes.  When 
the  car  stopped,  we  were  still  in  earnest  conversation. 
As  we  stepped  out,  my  friend  observed — "  friend  Grant, 
as  thou  art  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  if  thee  will  put 
thyself  under  my  direction,  and  walk  along  to  my  dwell- 
ing, on  the  way  we  pass  the  office  of  the  stage  which 
goes  on  for  London  at  8  o'clock  this  evening.  We  can 
secure  thy  seat ;  then  step  to  my  house,  partake  of  a 
cup  of  tea,  and  sit  with  my  family  till  half  past  seven.  It 
will  be  more  agreeable,  than  to  sit  three  hours  in  a  ho- 
tel among  strangers."  As  this  kind  offer  exactly 
agreed  with  my  notions  of  propriety  in  these  matters, 
I  thanked  him  sincerely,  and  accompanied  him  on  the 
way.  It  was  now  4  P.  M.  On  arriving  at  his  house 
we  partook  of  an  excellent  cup  of  tea,  and  was  engaged 
in  a  pleasant  family  fireside  conversation.  At  a  quar- 
ter past  7,  I  drew  out  my  watch,  while  I  was  tracing  the 
figure,  my  friend  observes,  "  friend  Grant,  thee  seems 
to  carry  very  little  baggage,  to  have  travelled  so  far.*' 
I  sprung  on  my  feet,  says  I,  "  I  have  lost  my  trunk  ; 
what  shall  I  do?"  Says  he,  "  we  will  call  a  carriage  and 
try."  You  will  observe,  it  now  wanted  only  40  minutes 
to  the  time  of  starting.  We  drove  to  the  office  of  the 
cars — could  get  no  intelligence  of  the  trunk — said  when 
the  cars  stopped  they  were  all  placed  on  the  ground  ; 
and  if  passengers  left  their  baggage,  it  was  at  the  mercy 
of  any  one  who  might  carry  it  off,  as  no  goods  were  re- 
%eived  in  the  office,  except  at  the  request  of  the  owner, 
and  on  his  entering  his  name.  Gladly  would  I  now  have 
given  50  pr.  ct.  to  have  insured  my  trunk.  We  then  drove 
to  different  hotels  and  omnibus  offices — finally  found 
the  trunk  among  aheap  of  others  at  one  of  the  hotels. 
We  reached  the  stage  office,  saw  my  trunk  secured  oa 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  149 

the  top,  and  took  my  seat  just  two  minutes  before  start- 
ing. In  common  phrase,  I  think  my  falling  in  with 
this  gentleman  one  of  the  most  fortunate  incidents  of 
my  journey ;  but  for  him,  I  really  believe  I  would  not 
have  recovered  my  trunk  ;  one  thing  is  certain,  I  would 
not  have  got  it  that  night,  and  of  course  would  have 
lost  my  passage  in  the  stage.  My  mind  was  in  that 
state  of  anxiety,  I  was  incapable  of  acting  with  discre- 
tion or  making  a  cool  inquiry ;  while  he  was  prompt, 
active,  well  known  and  respected ;  as  I  could  see,  by 
the  alacrity  and  attention  paid  to  his  inquiries  wherever. 
we  went. 

When  I  thought  of  my  stupidity  in  walking  off  with 
only  my  cloak  on  my  arm  and  umbrella  in  my  hand, 
and  leaving  my  trunk,  which  I  had  safely  carried  through 
a  five  months  journey,  and  now  to  lose  it  on  the  last 
day  of  my  route  ;  when  I  remembered  that  I  had  not  a 
change  of  clothing,  and  that  all  my  books,  pictures, 
papers,  and  curiosities,  which  I  had  been  gathering 
with  so  much  trouble  and  care,  were  in  that  trunk ;  I 
say,  when  I  thought  of  this,  (the  thought  did  not  drive 
me  mad,)  it  made  me  feel  as  stupid  as  any  simple  fool 
ever  felt  when  left  to  wander  in  his  own  counsels.  Mr. 

C is  a  respectable  member  of  the  society  of 

Friends,  and  an  extensive  manufacturer  of  crapes  in 
Manchester.  I  care  not  a  cent  for  the  epithet  enthusi- 
ast. I  firmly  believe  in  the  doctrine  of  a  particular 
Providence ;  and  that  I  was  directed  in  the  way  of  this 
man  as  the  means  of  getting  my  feet  out  of  this  scrape.. 
Had  he  been  jive  minutes  later  in  his  remark  about  the 
smallness  of  my  baggage,  1  certainly  would  have  lost 
my  passage — would  have  lost  a  night  and  a  day,  and 
probably  my  trunk. 

13* 


150  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

"  There  is  a  divinity  doth  shape  our  ends' 
Rough  hew  them  as  we  will." 

[  Cowper. 
"  As  falls  a  sparrow  to  the  ground, 

Obedient  to  thy  will; 

By  the  same  law  those  globes  wheel  round, 
Each  drawing  each,  yet  all  still  found 
In  one  eternal  system  bound 

One  order  to  fulfil." 

[Brougham. 

I  arrived  in  London  next  day  about  sun  down.  It 
is  amusing  to  see  the  deference  paid  to  dress  and  ap- 
pearances by 'the  livery  servants  in  London.  They 
seem  to  be  more  tenacious  on  this  point  than  most  of 
their  masters.  If  you  approach  the  door,  except  you 
come  in  a  carriage  of  some  sort,  no  matter  how  mean* 
you  are  hardly  treated  with  civility.  I  went  to  deliver 
a  letter  of  introduction  to  a  gentleman  in  Russell  Square 
on  foot — rang.  The  liveryman  looked  from  a  door  in 
the  area  of  the  cellar.  "  What's  wanting?"  says  he. 
"Is  Mr.  W.  within?"  says  I.  "He  is  gone  out." — 
"  When  he  comes  in  give  him  this  letter  and  card," 
«ays  I.  Next  day  Mr.  W.  called  at  my  dwelling,  having 
his  lady,  two  children,  a  young  gentleman,  and  himself 
in  an  elegant  carriage,  a  coachman  before,  and  this  same 
Jivery  servant  behind.  Being  called,  I  went  to  the 
carriage.  Mr.  W.  came  out,  insisted  on  going  in  the 
'house.  I  wished  him  not  to  leave  his  family  in  the 
street.  He  came  in  however,  conversed  ten  minutes, 
£ave  me  his  address,  with  an  invitation  to  dine  that  and 
every  other  evening  at  6  o'clock  while  I  was  in  Lon- 
don. I  always  dined  with  him  from  that  day,  when 
my  other  engagements  would  admit.  But  I  was  much 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  151 

amused  to  see  with  what  pointed  attention  t  was  treated 
by  this  same  servant  next  time  I  called — as  taking  off 
my  surtout,  hanging  up  my  hat,  &/c.,  after  he  had  seen 
the  polite  manner  in  which  his  master  had  answered 
mv  call. 

* 

On  one  occasion  I  dined  at  Lord  B's.  There  were 
twelve  at  the  table,  and  six  servants  in  splendid  livery 
to  wait  on  them.  I  put  on  my  best  black  suit,  and 
looked  as  smooth  as  a  country  parson.*  I  had  got  a 
few  glimpses  at  high  life  previously,  so  I  felt  some  con- 
fidence in  myself.  The  mistress  of  the  feast  sat  at  the 
head  of  the  table.  On  her  right  sat  a  young  lady,  a 

Miss  C n.     I  was   placed   on  her  right,  while  the 

eldest  daughter  of  the  family,  a  girl  of  seventeen,  sat 
on  my  right  hand.  So  I  was  placed  between  the  twa. 
When  I  looked  at  the  servants  with  their  powdered 
heads  and  clothes  of  scarlet,  at  the  vessels  of  gold  and 
vessels  of  silver,  at  the  jars  of  China  and  platters  of 
glass,  at  the  lords  and  the  ladies,  at  the  sirs  and  the 
counts,  at  the  room,  whose  seats,  sofas,  Ottomans  and 
foot-stools,  far  outshone  what  we  have  read  of  Eastern 
luxury  and  splendour,  anQgwhose  gas  lamps  and  chan- 
deliers sent  forth  a  blaze  jnore  brilliant  than  their  wia- 
ter  sun,  I  thought  this  wtxs  rather  going  ahead  of  any- 
thing of  the  kind  I  had  yet  seen,  and  was  rather  afraid 
I  might  make  some  blunder.  However,  I  was  resolved 
to  maintain  my  confidence,  and  make  myself  at  home, 
like  my  worthy  countryman,  Sir  Andrew  Wylie,  at 
the  ball  given  by  the  Duchess  of  Dashingwell  in  the 
next  square  to  where  I  am  now  partaking  of  London 
hospitality.  Miss  C n  was  a  sociable  and  intelli- 

*  I  came  in  a  carriage  on  this  important  business. 


0 

162  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

gent  girl.  We  were  at  home  in  five  minutes.  Says  I, 
"  Miss,  I  have  seen  some  fine  parties  at  Edinburgh, 
Glasgow,  and  Liverpool,  but  this  is  rather  carrying  the 
joke  a  little  farther  than  any  thing  I  have  seen  yet ;  I 
am  afraid  I  may  go  wrong.  I  am  something  like  the 
old  woman  in  Scotland,  who  went  to  dine  with  the 
minister  ;  so  if  I  can'tget  on  you  must  help  me  along." 
She  said  she  would.  "  But  what  of  the  old  lady  in 
Scotland  ?"  said  she.  Says  I,  "  I  have  heard  my  father 
relate  the  story  years  ago,  (it  happened  in  the  parish 
where  he  lives,)  and  I  heard  him  relate  it  again  last 
week.  (She  was  much  surprised  to  hear  he  yet  lives 
in  his  91st  year.)  "On  a  certain  market  day,  Marga- 
ret, the  wife  of  a  neighboring  farmer,  in  addition  to  her 
load  of  hens,  geese,  and  turkeys,  brought  a  small  bas- 
ket of  eggs  as  a  present  for  her  minister.  Having  sold 
ofi  her  load  of  sundries,  she  wends  her  way  to  the  par- 
sonage. After  inquiring  how  he,  the  wife,  and  aw'  the 
bairns  did,  she  says,  "I  hae  brought  ye  twa  or  three 
collar  (fresh)  eggs  for  the  good  wife,  to  help  her  youl 
bannocks"  (Christmas  cakes.)  The  eggs  were  kindly 
received,  and  being  dinner*  hour,  she  was  invited  to 
stop  and  take  her  kail.  "  Na,  na"  says  Margaret,  "  I 
t&n.ia  ken  hu  to  behave  at  great  folks'  tables."  "Oh, 
never  mind,"  said  the  minister,  "just  do  as  ye  see  me 
do."  Margaret  was  persuaded,  and  sat  down  at  the 
table.  It  so  happened  that  the  minister  was  old  and 
well  stricken  with  age,  and  with  all  had  got  a  stroke 
of  the  palsey.  In  conveying  the  spoon  from  the  cup 
to  the  lip,  the  arm  being  unsteady,  the  soup  was  apt  to 
spill  on  the  ground ;  therefore,  to  prevent  damage  be- 
falling his  garments,  it  was  his  custom  to  fasten  one 
end  of  the  table-cloth  with  two  stout  pins  to  the  top  of 
hie  waistcoat,  just  under  the  chin.  Margaret,  who  sat  on 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  153 

the  opposite  corner  of  the  table  watching  his  motions, 
immediately  pins  the  other  end  of  the  cloth  to  a  strong 
homespun  shawl,  right  under  her  chin.  She  was  at- 
tentive to  every  move.  The  minister  deposites  a  quan- 
tity of  mustard  on  the  edge  of  his  plate.  Margaret, 
not  observing  lh\?  fugal  exactly,  carries  the  spoon  to 
her  mouth.  The  mustard  soon  began  to  operate  on 
the  olfactory  nerve.  She  had  never  before  seen  mus- 
tard. She  thought  she  was  bewitched.  The  girl  coming 
in  with  clean  piates  opens  the  door.  Margaret  makes 
one  spring,  upsets  the  girl,  plates  and  all,  sweeps  the 
table  of  all  its  contents:  the  crash  adds  speed  to  her 
flight.  The  minister  being  fast  to  the  other  corner,  was 
compelled  to  follow  as  quick  as  his  tottering  limbs 
could  move.  He  held  on  to  the  railing.  The  pins  slipped. 
Away  went  Margaret,  and  never  looked  back  on  the  par- 
son's door."  Miss  C n  laughed  aloud  at  the  con- 
clusion. Some  of  the  company  inquired  the  cause,  so, 
by  way  of  explanation,  I  was  compelled  to  repeat  the 
story. 

The  conversation  turned  chiefly  on  the  conceit  and 
pride,  <fcc.,  of  the  Americans.  I  observed,  that  they 
had  much  to  be  proud  of,  such  upright  statesmen  and 
honest  politicians  as  Washington,  Jefferson,  Hamilton, 
Jay,  Franklin  and  others,  perhaps  no  other  country 
could  boast  of.  This  was  assented  to  ;  and  with  regard 
to  ships,  none  can  build,  sail,  or  fight  like  them.  Some 
remarks  (from  Hall,  Trollope  and  Fiddler's  Men  apd 
Manners)  being  made  about  the  ladies,  I  said  I  firmly 
believed  there  was  not  a  lady  in  America,  but  would 
sooner  suffer  the  pains  of  martyrdom,  than  expose  her 
person,  as  their  women  do  at  the  pantheons,  theatre 
and  opera  boards.  These  and  similar  sentiments  which 
I  maintained  in  conversation  pleased  many,  but  were 


154  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

rather  cutting  to  a  few.  I  observed  to  them,  (by  the 
way  of  soothing,)  that  the  Americans  originally  sprung 
chiefly  from  Britain ;  therefore,  they  ought  not  to  be 
jealous,  because  their  sons  and  daughters  had  not  de- 
generated. 

The  conversation  took  a  turn,  and  was  maintained 
for  some  time  on  the  national  character  of  the  Scots, 
their  intelligence,  industry  and  enterprise  ;  their  steady 
habits,  respect  for  religion  and  attachment  to  the  Bible. 
A  gentleman,  by  way  of  a  case  in  point,  related  the  fol- 
lowing anecdote,  which,  though  not  quite  original,  IB 
well  worth  preserving. 

The  King  and  his  Scotch  Cook. 

The  witty  Earl  of  Rochester,  being  in  company  with 
King  Charles  II.,  his  queen,  chaplain,  and  some  minis- 
ters of  state,  after  they  had  been  discoursing  on  busi- 
ness, the  king  suddenly  exclaims,  "Let  our  thoughts  be 
unbended  from  the  cares  of  state,  and  give  us  a  gene- 
rous glass  of  wine — that  cheer eth,  as  the  scripture  saith, 
God  and  man."  The  queen  hearing  this,  modestly  said 
she  thought  there  could  be  no  such  text  in  the  scrip- 
tures, and  that  the  idea  was  but  little  less  than  blasphemy. 
The  king  replied  he  was  not  prepared  to  turn  to  chap- 
ter and  verse,  but  was  sure  he  had  met  it  in  his  scrip- 
ture, reading.  The  chaplain  was  appealed  to,  and  he 
was  of  the  same  opinion  as  the  queen.  Rochester 
suspecting  the  king  to  be  right,  and  being  no  friend 4o 
the  chaplain,  slipped  out  of  the  room  to  inquire  among 
the  servants  if  any  of  them  were  conversant  with  the 
Bible.  They  named  David,  the  Scotch  cook,  who  al- 
ways carried  a  Bible  about  him ;  and  David  being 
called,  recollected  both  the  text,  and  where  to  find  it. 


THORBURN?S    JOURNAL.  155 

Rochester  ordered  him  to  be  in  waiting,  and  returned 
to  the  king.  This  text  was  still  the  topic  of  conversa- 
tion, and  Rochester  moved  to  call  in  David,  who,  he 
said,  he  found  was  well  acquainted  with  the  scriptures. 
David  appeared,  and  being  asked  the  question,  pro- 
duced his  Bible,  and  read  the  text,  (Judges  ix.  13.) 
The  king  smiled,  the  queen  asked  pardon,  and  the 
chaplain  blushed.  Rochester  then  asked  the  doctor  if 
he  could  interpret  the  text  now  it  was  produced  ?  The 
doctor  was  mute.  The  earl,  therefore,  applied  to  David 
for  the  exposition.  The  cook  immediately  replied, 
"  How  much  wine  cheereth  many  our  lordship  knows  : 
and  that  it  cheereth  God,  I  beg  leave  to  say,  that  under 
the  Old  Testament  dispensation,  there  were  meat-offer- 
ings and  drink-offerings  ;  the  latter  consisted  of  wine, 
which  was  typical  of  the  blood  of  the  Mediator,  which 
by  a  metaphor  was  said  to  cheer  God,  as  he  was  well 
pleased  in  the  way  of  salvation  he  had  appointed. 
Whereby  his  justice  was  satisfied,  his  law  fulfilled,  his 
mercy  reigned,  his  grace  triumphed,  all  his  perfec- 
tions harmonized,  the  sinner  was  saved,  and  God  in 
Christ  glorified."  The  king  was  surprised  at  this 
evangelical  exposition.  Rochester  applauded,  and 
after  some  severe  reflections  upon  the  doctor,  very 
gravely  moved,  that  his  majesty  would  be  pleased  to 
make  the  chaplain  his  cook,  and  this  cook  his  chaplain. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  Conversazione — Mr.  Irving  and  the  Irvingites — A 
Visit  to  the  Packet — A  Street  Juggler. 

I  WAS  next  invited  to  make  one  of  a  party,  or  as  the 
card  sent  me  specified,  a  conversazione,  to  be  at  the 
place  at  10  A.  M.  The  door  was  attended  by  two  ser- 
vants in  proper  costume ;  to  one  I  gave  the  card  I  re- 
ceived, and  while  he  carried  it  to  his  master,  the  other 
was  helping  off  my  coat,  hat,  and  securing  my  umbrella. 
He  affixed  to  them  a  ticket,  and  gave  me  the  correspond- 
ing number,  to  prevent  an  exchange.  I  thought  in  my 
case  this  precaution  was  unnecessary,  as  I  stand  within 
an  inch  of  five  feet,  and  they  were  all  great  men.  The 
master  appeared,  when  I  was  presented  in  form. 

I  thought,  on  the  whole,  it  was  a  very  pretty  and  a 
very  rational  affair.  The  gentlemen  were  chiefly  literary 
and  scientific  characters.  The  ladies,  were  women  of 
taste  and  refinement ;  in  fact,  it  was  a  real  show  of  natu- 
ral and  artificial  curiosities.  Almost  every  guest  brought 
with  him  or  her  some  contribution  to  the  evening's 
amusement.  Many  of  the  gentlemen  had  lately  been 
in  far  counties,  and  had  with  them  the  fruits  of  their 
industry  and  taste.  There  were  plants,  flowers,  draw- 
ings, paintings,  prints,  minerals,  shells,  petrifactions, 


T«ORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  157 

&c.  <fcc. ;  but  among  all  he  wonders  of  nature  and  art 
there  displayed,  nothing  appeared  so  remarkable  in 
my  eyes,  as  the  skin  which  was  cast  off  from  a  man's 
hand  after  the  manner  of  a  shake.  This  article  was 
produced  by  a  physician,  who  gave  us  a  well  authenti- 
cated account  of  the  circumstances  of  the  case.  The 
man  was  a  respectable  farmer  not  far  from  London,  and 
•was  subject  to  some  sort  of  fever,  which  seized  him 
regularly  every  five  years.  On  recovering  from  the 
fever,  the  skin  came  off  from  his  hands  nearly  as  com- 
plete as  a  pair  of  gloves.  The  specimen  I  saw  was  in 
this  state.  There  was  only  a  small  rent  on  one  of  the 
fingers,  I  think  on  the  left  hand.  So  frequent  had  this 
circumstance  occurred  to  the  man,  that  it  was  usral  for 
some  physician  or  neighbour  to  engage  from  him  the 
skin  of  his  hand  a  twelve-month  or  more  previous  to 
its  coming  off.  I  had  seen  nothing,  where  I  found  my- 
self so  much  at  home,  and  to  my  liking,  as  at  this  party. 
I  was  the  only  non-resident  in  the  company,  and  re- 
ceived more  than  my  own  share  of  attention.  A  number 
of  rooms  were  thrown  open,  where  the  walks  were 
hung,  and  the  tables  covered  with  the  wonders  and 
curiosities  aforesaid.  In  another  very  spacious  hall,  a 
table  was  spread  with  every  thing  to  tempt  and  satisfy 
the  appetite.  There  was  tea,  coffee,  wines  and  cakes, 
pies,  pastry  and  confections.  The  company  was  in 
pairs  and  in  parties,  walking  and  talking,  sitting  and 
admiring,  eating  or  drinking,  just  as  fancy  or  feeling 
inclined.  The  lord  and  lady  of  the  manor  led  me  from 
room  to  room,  introducing  me  to  every  group,  party, 
and  coterie.  A  lady  asked  me  to  write  my  name  on 
the  back  of  her  card.  This  was  only  the  beginning, 
not  of  sorrow  but  of  scratching.  The  request — and 

14 


158 


THORBVRN'S  JOURNAL. 


mine,  and  mine,  reiterated  by  many,  till  the  cards  fell 
on  the  table  before  me,  as  thick  as  snow  flakes  on  a 
winter's  morning.  A  young  lady  presented  her  card  — 
it  was  a  very  large  one  ;  and  by  way  of  variety  in  the 
scene,  a  thought  came  into  my  head.  I  wrote  it 
thus  :  — 


THE    CARD. 


GRANT  THORBURN 

MISS     ANNA    SEYMOUR. 

ffiffiffilffltfffiSffl^ 


I  wrote  my  name  & — just  above  her  name  on  the 
face  of  the  card.  The  card  flew  round  the  room  crea- 
ting a  laugh — all  that  was  intended. 

This  procuring  of  signatures  is  a  very  prevailing  foi- 
ble among  the  good  folks  in  Britain  at  this  time.  I  was 
shown  books  by  many,  where  I  saw  the  signatures  of 
Washington,  Bonaparte,  Pitt,  Fox,  Sir  W.  Scott,  &c. 
They  are  often  procured  at  considerable  trouble  and 
expense.  Sometimes  by  writing  to  the  person  whose 
name  they  wish,  making  some  frivolous  inquiry,  and 
paying  the  postage.  When  the  answer  comes  back, 
their  end  is  attained  ;  they  cut  off  the  signature,  and 
paste  it  in  their  book.  If  you  are  at  their  house,  and 


fHORBURN's   JOURNAL.  169 

they  wish  your  name,  you  are  requested  to  write  it  in 
their  book. 

The  company  began  to  disperse,  and  I  was  sent  home 
in  a  carriage  at  2  o'clock  A.  M.  The  streets  in  London, 
except  by  the.  bank,  the  exchange  and  custom-house, 
are  nearly  as  much  crowded  at  midnight,  as  they  are 
in  the  middle  of  the  day ;  but  their  fine  police  keeps 
all  in  order. 

Having  heard  much  of  the  far-famed  Mr.  Irving,  I 
went  with  a  friend  to  judge  for  myself.  Though  I 
reached  the  door  half  an  hour  before  the  time  appoint- 
ed, it  was  with  much  difficulty  we  could  force  an  en- 
trance. By  the  time  he  got  about  the  middle  of  his 
harangue,  the  crowd  increased  to  a  real  mob.  From 
squeezing  and  jostling  they  soon  came  to  blows,  and 
for  some  minutes  there  was  a  real  set-to.  A  party  of 
the  police,  who  are  ever  at  hand,  made  a  forcible  entry, 
carried  away  half  a  dozen,  shut  the  doors,  and  restored 
order.  For  some  time  I  was  in  more  danger,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, than  ever  I  had  been  either  o'ri  land  or  water. 
When  the  fight  commenced  below,  I  stood  at  the  top 
of  the  gallery  stairs.  A  rush  from  the  gallery  pressed 
all  before  them  downwards,  and  a  rush  from  the  door 
pressed  all  before  them  upwards — women  screaming 
and  fainting,  men  cursing,  boys  swearing;  some  bawling 
for  their  hats,  canes,  and  umbrellas;  some  singing  out, 
take  care  of  your  money,  pocket-books,  &c.  In  the 
mean  time,  I  was  in  danger  of  suffocation,  being  in  the 
heart  of  the  crowd.  I  finally  got  hold  of  the  banisters. 
There  I  could  breathe  ;  but  the  danger  appeared  to  in- 
crease. Another  shout  below,  and  another  rush  from 
above.  The  banisters  began  to  crack.  I  expected 
next  moment  to  be  precipitated  on  the  heads  of  the 
people  twenty  feet  below,  with  some  hundreds  on  my 


160  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL 

back.  The  police-men  opened  the  doors,  the  crowd 
rushed  into  the  street,  the  passage  was  cleared,  and  I 
made  my  escape,  resolving  never  to  enter  Mr.  Irving' s 
chapel  more. 

Irving' s  discourse  was  neither  a  sermon  nor  a  lecture, 
an  exhortation  nor  an  oration,  but  a  rambling,  incompre- 
hensible harangue,  of  high  sounding  and  great  swelling 
words,  bombast  and  jingle  ;  words  thrown  out  by  the 
yard,  without  sen-se  or  meaning.  And  this  he  continued^ 
as  I  learned  afterwards,  for  upwards  of  two  hours. — 
The  substance  of  what  he  said  is  comprised  in  twenty 
or  thirty  scripture  words,  viz:  "And  when  the  day -of 
Pentecost  was  fully  come,  they  all  spoke  with  tongues, 
and  tongues  sat  on  them  like  fire.  Your  sons,  and  your 
daughters  shall  prophecy,  your  young  men  shall  see 
visions,  and  your  old  men  shall  dream  dreams." — 
Dreamer,  indeed, 'thought  I.  Now,  you  have  only  to 
get  some  long,  lank,  thin,  pale-faced  looking  yankee, 
with  straight,  sleek  black  hair,  smoothly  combed  over 
his  forehead,  ears,  neck,  and  shoulders — let  him  stand 
for  the  space  of  two  whole  hours,  repeating  the  above 
scr  ips  of  texts,  and  that  too  at  the  top  of  h:  3  lungs,  then 
you  may  fancy  to  yourself,  that  you  are  just  hearing 
one  of  Mr.  Irving' s  sermons,  in  St.  Martin's  Lane,  Lon- 
don. There  is  no  doubt  but  his,  mind  is  alienated  ;  but 
it  is  rather  strange  that  he  has  collected  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  crazy  mortals  to  become  his  deciples. 
The  most  conspicuous  of  his  apostles  is  Mr.  Drummond, 
the  great  London  Banker,  a  man  whose  income  is  esti- 
mate'!, by  those  who  know  Jrim,  to  be  not  less  than 
£30,000  sterling  a  year.  However  these  things  are 
neither  new  nor  uncommon.  I  remember  of  seeing  in 

O 

Scotland,  about  the  year  1733,  a  company  of  fprty  or  fifty 
men  and  women  led  out  into  the  wilderness  by  a  Mrs. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  161 

Buchan.  They  said  they  were  travelling  to  Jerusalem, 
from  whence  they  were  to  get  on  the  top  of  Mount 
Olivet,  and  then  ascend  to  heaven.  This  woman  had 
in  her  train  a  presbyterian  minister,  and  a  lawyer  of  % 
eminent  practice.  These  people  never  got  farther  than 
the  coast  however ;  their  funds  got  low,  when  each 
man  returned  to  his  own  home.  In  late  years  too, 
Hannah  Southcott  led  in  her  train,  (in  England,)  a  com- 
pany of  men  and  women,  some  of  them  were  very  re- 
spectable. They  were  all  engaged  with  her  in  some, 
such  wild  goose  chase,  as  the  Buchanites  in  Scotland 
fifty  years  ago,  and  the  Irvingites  in  London  at  the 
present  day. 

On  leaving  such  a  scene,  the  only  feeling  which  a 
serious  and  candid  hearer  could  cherish,  was  one  of 
anger,  sympathy,  and  sincere  sorro\v,  that  such  pitiful, 
exhibitions  of  human  weakness  should  be  so  held  forth 
under  the  character  of  divine  worship.  The  proceed- 
ings of  this  sect,  since  their  first  appearance,  has  given 
some  extraordinary  proofs  of  the  wild  and  wayward 
wanderings  of  the  human  mind  from  the  paths  of  rec- 
titude and  reason  when  left  to  its  own  guidance. 

A  fe\v  days  before  leaving  London,  at  a  dinner  party, 
the  conversation  took  a  turn  about  the  American  pack- 
ets— their  beauty,  accommodations,  swift  sailing,  &c. 
A  lady  in  the  company  expressed  a  wish  to  see  them. 
I  told  her  I  had  engaged  my  passage  in  the  ship  Mon- 
treal, lying  at  St.  Catharine's  dock,  and  if  agreeable  I 
would  be  happy  to  accompany  her  on  board.  Next 
morning,  according  to  appointment,  at  11  o'clock  .A. 
M.,  she  called  at  my  lodgings  in  her  own  carriage,  ac- 
companied by  a  young  lady,  her  daughter.  It  was  now 
the  6th  of  March,  and  a  most  beautiful  day,  the  finest  I 

14* 


162  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

had  seen  in  England.  On  arriving  at  the  ship,  the 
seamen  were  lowering  heavy  casks  into  the  hold  with 
all  the  soul-stirring  music  of  their  usual  song.  The 
ladies  looked  aloft,  from  stem  to  stern,  and  threw  their 
eyes  among  the  forest  of  masts  with  astonishment.— 
(This  was  the  first  ship  they  had  boarded.)  Captain 
Champlin  (whose  blood  an  1  bone  is  politeness  itself) 
received  them  on  board,  and  conducted  us  into  the 
cabin.  After  showing  them  the  gentlemen's  and  lady's 
apartments,  cook  and  steward's  conveniences,  <fcc.,  he 
set  before  them  wine,  biscuit,  and  American  ham. — 
They  had  never  tasted  such  ham,  never  saw  such 
beautiful  wood,  never  thought  there  could  be  such  a 
place  on  board  of  a  saip — why  it  was  more  splendid 
than  a  parlour.  Says  I,  "  Ms  'lam,  it  is  only  the  Ameri- 
can ships  that v  shpw  such  handsome  cabins.  The 
Americans  pride  themselves  on  fine  ships  and  cabins  ; 
and  perhaps  there  is  no  country  known  where  such 
varieties  of  beautiful  timber  grows,  as  is  produced  in 
the  American  forests."  When  we  came  on  shore,  she 
observed,  "Your  captain  must  be  an  Englishman."— - 
Says  I,  "  Madam,  what  makes  you  think  so  ?"  "  Be- 
cause," says  she,  "he  is  as  polite  and  dresses  as  gen- 
teel as  any  gentleman."  Says  I,  "Madam,  that  man 
is  a  genuine  bred  Connecticut  Yankee.  But,  madam, 
the  American  captains  are  all  g  •  itlemen  ;  many  of 
them  hnve  been  to  college.  It  is  their  learning  makes 
them  build  such  fine  ships,  sail  them  so  swiftly  across 
the  Atlantic,  and  fight  them  so  well  when  necessary. — 
It  was  never  heard,  since  the  world  began,  i  hat  a  British 
frigate  struck  to  a  frigate  of  any  nation  afte  only  fifteen 
minutes  fighting,  till  the  late  war,  .when  th^y  struck  to 
the  Americans."  She  smiled,  and  said,  "  They  are  a 
wonderful  people." 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  163 

When  you  visit  the  docks  at  London  or  Liver- 
pool, you  pass  through  gates.  The  carriage  was 
waiting  for  us  at  the  gate.  Passing  along,  on  our  re- 
turn, I  saw  on  the  stern  of  a  ship,  the  of 

Bristol,  apparently  about  the  same  tonnage  as  the 
Montreal.  The  tide  being  low,  the  deck  was  flush  with 
the  wharf,  and  of  course  easy  of  access.  Says  I,  "Ma- 
dam, here  is  a  fine  British  ship,  if  you  please  we  will 
take  a  view  of  her  cabin."  "  With  all  my  heart,"  says 
she.  We  went  on  board,  asked  the  officer  if  he  would 
permit  us  to  walk  in  the  cabin.  "  You  are  welcome," 
says  he.  When  we  got  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs  I  walked 
first  She  paused  and  looked  in.  I  asked  her  to  enter. 
'*  O,  no,"  says  she,  "  it  will  soil  my  clothes."  When 
we  got  on  shore — "  Well,  madam,"  says  I,  "  you  see 
there  is  a  difference  between  these  cabins?"  "As 
much,"  says  she,  "  as  between  ray  parlour  and  kitchen." 
I  felt  a  little  American  pride  at  this  moment.  We  now 
entered  the  carriage,  drove  to  the  Royal  Bazar  and 
other  lounging  places  ;  then  to  her  mansion  in  Pick- 
adilly,  where  we  partook  of  a  cold  cut  and  wine. — 
She  \vas  much  gratified  with  what  she  had  seen. — 
Said  she  had  not  spent  three  hours 'so  much  to  her 
liking  in  many  days.  Never  having  been  on  board 
of  a  ship  till  that  day,  the  novelty  of  the  thing  struck 
her  exceedingly.  We  parted  much  pleased — she 
with  havi  i  seen  ships,  and  I  with  the  favourable 
impression  she  had  received  of  the  American  ships. 
I  again  entered  her  carriage,  and  was  driven  to  my 
lodgings  just  in  time  for  dinner. 

On  the  way  home,  I  stopped  the  carrioge  for  a 
few  minutes  to  look  at  a  juggler  playing  his  tricks 
in  a  public  lane  nenr  by  Regent- street.  He  had 
collected  around  him,  with  the  sound  of  a  drum  and 


I 

164  THORBURN's  JOURNAL. 

tabor,  a  vast  crowd.  He  was  throwing  balls  high 
in  the  air,  and  receiving  them  on  the  point  of  a  stick 
as  they  came  down — and  other  dexterous  pranks.  I 
wondered  how  their  police  tolerated  such  a  breach 
of  decorum  in  so  public  a  place. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Respect  paid  the  Dead — Solemnity  of  their  Funercls — 
Precautions  against  Resurrectionists — Anecdote  of 
the  Auld  Wives  of  Leven. 

THERE  is  something  very  characteristic  in  the  cus- 
toms of  Europe,  with  regard  to  the  honours  paid  to  the 
corpse  of'their  dead.  In  America,  a. id  all  warm  cli- 
mates, the  dead  are  generally  buried  almost  before  they 
are  cold.  In  Europe  they  are  kept  from  four  to  eight 
days.  Relations,  and  even  distant  relations,  will  come 
forty  and  often  fifty  miles  to  attend  the  funeral  of  a 
friend;  and  if  not  invited,  it  is  considered  an  afi'n  nt. 
I  remember  an  instance  which  happened  in  Scotland 
nearly  fifty  years  ago.  A  cousin  of  a  gentleman's  wife 
died.  They  resided  at  a  distance  of  forty  miles.  When 
the  news  arrived  of  the  death  and  burial  of  the  cousin, 
the  lady  was  highly  offended  because  she  had  not  been 
invited  to  the  funeral.  She  spoke  long  and  loud  on 
the  subject.  Her  husband  getting  tired  of  the  theme, 
by,  way  of -comfort,  at  length  speaks  out.  "Never 
mind  my  dear,"  says  he,  "  when  you  die  I  wont  invite 
them."  The  lady  looked  seriously  confounded,  but 
said  no  more  on  the  subject,  being  thus  most  matrimo- 
ni  lly  comforted. 


166  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

In  Britain,  every  person  attending  a  funeral  comes 
dressed  in  a  complete  suit  of  black.  They  walk  from 
the  house  to  the  grave  in  a  decent  solemn  manner.  It 
is  rare  to  see  any  engaged  in  conversation.  I  remember 
feeling  desperately  scandalized  at  the  first  funeral  I  saw 
in  New-York;  the  bell  tolling* — the  sexton  first,  wear- 
ing a  blue  coat;  two  ministers  and  pall-bearers  with 
scarfs  ;  next  followed  the  father  and  his  sons,  handker- 
chiefs to  their  eyes,  and  I  really  believe  were  in  deep 
sorrow.  Then  followed  about  two  hundred  men,  dressed 
in  coats  of  all  colours,  talking,  smiling,  and  conversing, 
with  the  same  indifference  as  if  it  had  been  the  4th  of 
July  procession.  Says  I  to  myself,  the  people  here 
must  be  without  feeling  and  without  natural  affection. 

In  London,  the  funerals,  even  among  the  middling 
classes,  make  a  most  imposing  show.  The  hearse  and 
horses,  all  decorated_with  large  and  splendid  black  and 
white  plumes,  all  nodding  and  floating  in  the  breeze  ; 
the  mourning  coaches,  the  drivers  and  footmen,-  the 
mutes  and  undertakers,  wrapped  in  black  cloth  cloaks 
with  white  or  black  bands  around  their  hats  and  hang- 
ing far  down  between  their  shoulders  ;  others  walking 
before  and  on  each  side  of  the  hearse  in  the  same  dress, 
with  long  black  rods  in  their  hands  ;  and  as  they  are 
often  hired  to  mourn  by  those  who  have  no  sorrow  at 
the  heart,  they  hang  on  a  face  of  grief,  which  is  the 
very  picture  of  melancholy  itself.  They  generally 
bury  between  10  and  11  o'clock  A.  M.  I  have  seen  a 
splendid  funeral  procession  stopped  in  the  middle  of 
the  street  for  nearly  ten  minutes  by  'the  crowd  of  carts, 

*  This  was  the  custom  at  that  period. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  167 

wagons,   and  carriages,  which  are  continually  rolling, 
day  and  night,  over  their  busy  streets. 

One  morning  I  met  on  the  pavement  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  St.  Paul's  church,  a  most  solitary  funeral  pro- 
cession. It  was  preceded  by  two  undertakers  with 
their  black  rods  as  usual.  The  pall  was  supported  by  six 
ladies,  and  followed  by  only  eight  more.  There  was 
no  man  following.  They  seemed  to  be  all  nearly  or  a 
little  over  forty  years  of  age;  and  they  were  all  clad  in 
deep  mourning.  They  looked  to  me  like  a  company  of 
widows  conveying  one  of  their  sisters  to  the  cold  grave 
of  her  husband.  Next  to  the  coffin  walked  two  of  the 
oldest — one  of  them,  more  than  all  the  rest,  seemed  sink- 
ing with  sorrow.  I  thought  she  might  have  been  the 
mother.  Slow  and  solemn  they  moved  along,  while 
the  throng  opened  on  the  right  and  left  to  let  them 
pass.  -  St.  Paul's  tremendous  bell  was  tolling  off,  his 
loud  and  awful  sounds.  I  thought  of  the  dead  march 
from  a  nunnery.  I  followed  in  the  rear  to  view  the 
closing  scene.  The  mother  stood  by  the  side  of  the 
grave.  The  beautiful  soothing  lines  of  the  burial  ser- 
vice seemed  to  calm  the  tumult  of  her  soul,  and  she 
stood  with  composure.  The  corpse  was  now  lit  down 
into  the  grave.  She  stooped  and  took  a  last  look. — 
The  sextons  commenced  filling  in  the  clods  of  the 
valley.  The  hollow  sound  from  the  coffin  struck  on 
her  heart;  her  tears  gushed  out  afresh — like  water's 
lately  pent  up  *  *  *  I  walked  from  the  spot,  and 
mixed  with  the  multitude. 

The  dread  of  the  resurrection-men  has  induced  many 
of  the  parishes  in  England  and  Scotland  to  erect  towers 
in  their  burying-grounds*  where  a  watch  is  kept  all 
night;  and  many,  even  of  the  poorer  class,  bury  their 
dead  in  cast  iron  coffins.  I  saw  numbers  of  those 


168  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

coffins  piled  up  in  the  corners  of  the  church- yards. — 
The  lid  is  fastened  on  with  stro  g  screws. 

The  following  authentic  anecdote  will  illustrate  the 
feelings  of  the  common  people  on  this  (to  them)  im- 
portant subject,  and  heing  written  in  the  exact  dialect 
of  that  section  of  the  country,  it  will  be  amusing  to 
some  readers. 

Anecdote  of  the  Old  Wives  of  Leven. 

Leven  lies  in  the  parish  of  Scoony,  in  Fifeshire, 
Scotland.  The  burial-ground  is  situated  about  half  a 
mile  from  the  village.  The  writer  of  these  sheets  will 
never  forget  the  shock  he  got  on  preparing  to  enter 
this  little  cemetery.  He  observed  on  a  long  pole  over- 
hanging the  road,  a  board  with  this  laconic  and  fearfully 
emphatic  inscription,  "  Take  notice — Any  person  en- 
tering this  church-yard  will  be  shot."  As  there  was  no 
exception  specified  in  favour  of  either  peripatetic  au- 
thors, or  any  other  harmless  class  of  mortals,  he  of 
course  abstained  from  his  intended  meditations  among 
the  tombs  ;  though  not  without  resolving  to  make  the 
unapproachability  of  the  burial-ground  of  Scoonie  a 
little  more  extensively  known. 

The  reader  will  have  no  difficulty  in  referring  this 
formidable  advertisement  to  its  proper  cause — the  alarm 
which  every  where  prevails  regarding  res.urrection-men. 
This  is  a  subject  of  some  importance.  The  fear  of 
nocturnal  attempts  upon  the  tombs  of  their  friends  may 
be  said  to  have  succeeded  in  the  minds  of  the  common 
people.  The  old  superstition  regarding  ghosts  and 
fairies  is  rife  every  where,  but  observable  mostly  in 
sequestered  parts  of  the  country.  If  the  people  be  in 
the  habit  of  seeing  "  strange  gentlemen"  riding  and 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  169 

racing  from  all  parts,  to  view  some  notorious  curiosity 
or  beautiful  scenery — as  a  stupendous  rock  or  waterfall, 
they  regard  them  as  only  "  daft,"  and  seem  inclined  to 
congratulate  themselves  on  being  exempted  by  Provi- 
dence from  the  manias  which  afflct  the  better  orders  of 
society.  But  should  the  case  be  otherwise,  and  one  or 
two  view-hunters  come  to  their  place  in  a  twelve-month, 
these  are,  as  a  matter  of  course,  understood  to  have 
"an  e'e  to  the  kirk-yard." 

A  young  man  having  lately  entered  a  church-yard 
in  a  secluded  part  of  the  country,  with  the  view  of 
whiling  away  an  hour  in  perusing  the  epitaphs,  a 
decent-looking  villager  came  up  and  addressed  him  in. 
something  like  the  following  style  :  "  I'll  tell  you  what, 
my  man,  if  ye  ha'  na  ony  particular  business  to  deteen 
ye  i'  the  toon,  ye  had  just  as  good  gang  awa.  I've 
come  to  tell  ye  this  as  a  freend  ;  and,  deed,  I  wad  ad- 
vise ye  to  pat  aff  as  cannily  as  ye  can  ;  the  folk  '11  be 
risin,  and  ye  ken  that  wadna  maybe  be  very  agreeable." 
It  was  a  good  while  before  the  intruder  understood  the 
man's  drift;  but  when  he  did  perceive  its  meaning,  he 
was  fain  to  take  the  hint  for  the  preservation  of  his 
person. 

This  case,  however,  is  nothing  to  one  which  occurred 
in  the  course  of  a  tour  undertaken  for  the  sake  of  this 
work  at  Torpichen,  a  village  in  West  Lothian,  about 
five  miles  from  a  public  road.  I  sought  out  this  place 
for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  remains  of  the  preceptory 
of  the  Knights  of  St.  John.  The  ruins  lie  in  the  church- 
yard ;  and  I  made  no  scruple  at  entering  the  little  en- 
closure in  order  to  inspect  them.  While  engaged  in 
this  labour  of  curiosity,  I  was  accosted  by  an  old  woman 
with  a  very  civil  observation  upon  the  fineness  of  the 
day.  She  then  hinted  a  supposition  that  I  was  a  stran- 

15 


170  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

ger  in  the  country  side.  I  confessed  the  fact.  "Hae 
ye  nae  freends  here  abouts  ?"  she  inquired.  "  None." 
"  Od,"  said  she,  "  we  dinna  like  to  see  fouk  comin  about 
our  kirk-yard  that  ha'e  na  business  wi'  them.  May  I 
speer  (ask)  what  ye' re  came  here  for?"  Before  I  could 
answer  this  question,  another  old  lady  came  up,  and 
apparently  resolved  to  treat  me  with  less  delicacy, 
cried  with  a  loud  screeching  voice,  "  Faith,  Billy,  ye 
needna  think  for  to  come  here  to  play  your  pranks  ; 
we've  as  gude  a  watch  here  as  they  ha'e  doun  at  Lith- 
gow  :  there's  the  house  they  stay  in.  And  they  hae  a 
gun  ;  Lord,  gin  ye  get  a  touch  o'  their  gun,  ye  wad  sune 
be  a  subjeck  yeer'sell !  Gae  wa  wi'  ye  ;  tr  y  athgate  ; 
they'll  maybe  no  be  sae  strick  there."  "Hout,  Katie," 
said  the  first  speaker  in  a  softer  voice,  "  the  gentleman's 
maybe  no  come  wi'  ony  sic  intention ;  he'll  just  ha' 
come  to  see  the  auld  kirk."  "  Fient  a  auld  kirk  is  he 
come  to  see,"  resumed  the  other  ;  "  he's  fonder  o'  kirk- 
yards  than  kirks,  I'se  warrant  him.  Od,  woman,  d'ye 
no  see,  he's  just  ane  o'  thae  genteel  kind  o'  chaps  that 
gang  after  that  tred."  "  Ay,"  said  a  third  hag,  "  and 
div  ye  observe,  he's  sutten  doun  stride-legs  on  auld 
Johny  Watt's  grave,  as  gin  he  were  already  making 
sure  o'  him.  Oh  the  blackguard  !"  Other  old  women 
were  now  gathering  round  me,  alike  alive  to  the  horror 
of  my  supposed  character  ;  and  I  could  compare  the 
scene  of  vituperation  and  disorder  which  ensued  to  no- 
thing but  the  gathering  of  harpies  round  jEneas. — 
Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  had  at  last  to  make  a  precipitate 
retreat  from  Torphichen,  in  order  to  avoid  the  death 
of  St.  Stephen. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Parting  with  my  Father — Conclusion — Friends  Part- 
ing— Yankee's  in  London — Matrimonial  Fracas — 
Voyage  Home. 

IN  this  world  every  thing  has  its  pleasures  and  its 
pains.  In  the  cabin  we  were  just  long  enough  together 
to  make  us  feel  the  pain  of  parting.  When  the  long 
looked  for  day  arrives,  and  we  step  on  shore  at  our 
desired  haven,  then  it  is  that  the  eye  which  expected 
to  dance  and  brighten  with  delight  on  the  scenes  and 
novelties  around,  is  often  dimmed  in  tears,  when  we 
part  with  those  whose  faces  we  shall  look  on  no  more 
for  ever.  On  landing,  I  bore  my  share  in  this  feeling. 

During  the  four  months  and  fifteen  days  I  sojourned 
in  Britain,  this  making  and  parting  with  friends  was  a 
matter  of  very  frequent  occurrence.  In  some  cases,  of 
course,  the  attachment  was  more  strong,  and  the  part- 
ing more  keenly  felt.  But  there  seems  to  be  something 
in  our  nature  that  revolts  at  the  idea  of  a  parting  for 
ever.  There  is  a  hope,  a  well-grounded  and  a  rational 
hope,  held  out  in  the  gospel,  and  there  only,  that  friends 
will  meet  to  part  no  more.  Allowing  (as  the  vain  phi- 
losopher says)  it  is  all  delusion,  it  is  a  very  soothing, 
and  a  very  consoling,  and  a  very  innocent  delusion; 


172  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

and  it  is  one  which  no  man  of  sound  mind  (whatever 
he  may  profess  in  words)  can  shake  from  his  soul,  viz  : 
the  hopes  of  meeting  them  he  holds  most  dear  in  some 
improved  state  of  existence  hereafter.  Depraved  pro- 
pensity may  wish  for  annihilation,  but  the  soul  still 
says  I  never  die. 

"When  I  came  to  part  with  my  father  for  the  last 
time,  I  saw  before  me  a  living  proof  that  the  hope  of  the 
gospel  can  support  nature  in  the  most  trying  situations. 
He  is  now  in  his  ninety-first  year.  His  eyes  are  dim,  so 
that  he  cannot  discern  objects  around.  I  dreaded  this 
day  of  parting.  I  knew  it  was  for  the  last  time,  and 
put  it  off  as  long  as  possible  ;  but  time  lingers  not,  the 
hour  came,  and  the  coach  was  at  the  door.  I  held  his 
hand,  it  trembled  not,  neither  did  his  voice  falter. — 
"  Now,"  says  he,  "  we  part,  and  except  we  meet  at  the 
right  hand  of  Christ,  it  will  be  for  ever.  Go,  and  may 
he  who  has  led  and  fed  me  all  my  life  long,  go  with 
you."  At  this  moment  he  stood  like  Jacob,  leaning 
upon  the  top  of  his  staff.  Thus  we  separated,  on  the 
same  spot  on  which  we  had  parted  forty  years  be- 
fore. 

In  the  course  of  my  walks  through  the  streets  and 
lanes  of  the  cities  of  London,  Edinburgh,  &c.,  I  now 
and  then  met  some  of  our  young  Yankee's,  sons,  not 
of  the  prophets,  but  of  the  democrats.  Young  repub- 
licans, living  like  sons  of  the  nobles,  bang  up,  in  a  first 
rate  hotel  in  Bond-street,  paying  one  guinea  per  day 
for  board,  six  shillings  sterling  for  a  bottle  of  wine, 
and  treating  a  set  of  fellows  (as  great  fools  as  them- 
selves) with  this  same  costly  wine.  I  knew  the  fathers 
of  some  of  these  boys  forty  years  ago,  when  they  were 
journeymen  mechanics.  Now  they  have  become  rich, 
they  send  their  sons  to  college.  The  boys  learn  to 


THORBTJRN'S  JOURNAL.  173 

drive  tandem,  smoke  segars,  and  drink  champaign, 
whereby  they  will  spend  as  much  money  at  one  sitting, 
as  it  would  have  cost  their  grandfathers,  seventy  years 
ago,  to  have  supported  a  wife  and  two  children  for  a 
twelve-month.  Then  they  must  needs  go  to  Europe. 
Just  as  if  they  could  not  learn  mischief  enough  in  New- 
York  or  Philadelphia,  but  they  must  see  life  in  London 
and  Paris,  that  they  may  get  initiated  in  all  the  mid- 
night revels  of  noble  blackguards  and  royal  fools.  In 
London  they  learn  the  works  of  the  devil ;  but  in  Paris 
they  learn  hell  itself.  Better  would  it  have  been  for 
some  of  these  young  men  had  their  fathers  never  risen 
higher  than  a  carrier  of  brick-bats.  I  cannot  see  any 
one  good  purpose  it  serves,  or  one  good  thing  they  can 
learn.  In  this  country  there  is  schools  for  the  prophets, 
the  merchant,  and  the  lawyer,  where  every  thing  may 
be  acquired  that  is  wanted  for  all  the  useful  purposes 
of  life  ;  and  Europe  can  learn  us  no  more.  And  there 
is  the  expense  too,  and  that  is  no  trifle.  I  found  every 
thing  in  the  stages,  hotels,  and  on  the  roads,  rather 
more  than  double  what  we  are  charged  for  the  same 
accommodations  in  this  country.  I  was  just  six  months 
absent  from  New-York  ;  I  was  lodged  by  my  relations, 
and  fed  by  my  friends  in  every  town  where  I  went.  I 
ilept  only  four  nights  in  hotels  during  my  journey.  I 
practised  a  strict  order  of  economy,  but  not  so  as  to  in- 
terfere with  my  health,  comfort,  or  reputation — for  in- 
stance, I  always  rode  inside,  dined  with  my  fellow- 
passengers,  and  when  I  had  to  put  up,  it  was  always  at 
the  best  hotel  in  the  place  ;  but  then  I  never  suffered 
them  to  treat  me,  and  you  may  be  sure  I  never  offered 
to  treat  them ;  yet,  notwithstanding  all  these  advantages 
and  precautions,  my  expenses,  including  passage  mo- 
ney out  and  home,  amounted  to  five  hundred  and 
15* 


174  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

twenty-two  dollars.  Now  I  feel  pretty  well  assured  in 
my  own  mind,  that  some  of  those  chaps  I  saw  spent 
four  times  as  much  in  the  same  time,  and  all  to  no  pur- 
pose that  I  could  see  under  the  sun — (for  my  own  part, 
I  saw  all,  and  done  business  which  paid  for  all.)  Now 
I  thought  how  much  better  it  would  have  been  to  have 
kept  those  boys  at  home,  learned  them  some  useful  oc- 
cupation, and  then  given  them  the  two  thousand  dollars 
to  commence  business.  Young  men  who  are  studying 
medicine  or  surgery,  I  think,  are  much  to  be  commend- 
ed for  going  abroad  to  gain  information.  In  walking 
the  hospitals  of  London,  Leyden,  and  Paris,  (and  as 
far  as  I  could  learn  Edinburgh  is  inferior  to  none,)  they 
may  add  much  to  their  fetock  in  those  sciences  ;  but  to 
see  a  set  of  idle,  brainless,  senseless  young  fops,  flour- 
ishing about  spending  money — drawing  bills  upon 
their  fathers,  and  coming  back  ten  times  more  the 
children  of  folly  than  when  they  went  away,  is  enough 
to  put  common  sense  to  the  blush.  This  is  republican 
simplicity  with  a  witness. 

March  8th. — Having  now  finished  my  business,  I 
breakfasted  with  my  friend,  and  went  on  board  the 
ship  Montreal  at  9  o'clock  A.  M.  She  was  hauling 
out ;  the  captain  was  on  shore,  and  the  pilot  giving 
orders.  Here  one  of  those  matrimonial  tragedies  took 
place,  which  are  frequently  acted  at  the  sailing  of  the 
American  packets. 

A  lady,  with  an  officer,  came  on  board,  having  a  ha- 
beas corpus  warrant,  in  the  kings  name,  ordering  all 
his  faithful  lieges  to  bring  forth  the  body  of  John  Doe, 
or  Richard  Roe,  &c.  The  officer  and  lady  descended 
into  the  steerage,  where  one  hundred  and  thirty  pas- 
sengers were  stowing  away  their  baggage,  when  lo !  on 
the  top  of  a  chest  sat  the  said  John,  and  snugly  by  his 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  175 

side  sat  also  a  second  cousin.  The  lady  claimed  her 
husband,  "as  by  the  words  of  the  ceremony,"  says  she, 
"we  are  one.  I  am  determined  that  all  the  waters  of 
the  Atlantic  shall  not  part  us  aeunder."  The  man 
looked  like  a  fool :  his  partner  and  the  officer  escorted 
him  on  deck,  and  marched  him  in  triumph  between  them 
up  the  wharf.  The  ladies  in  the  steerage  now  com- 
menced hooting  and  hissing  the  simple  young  woman. 
She  came  on  deck,  sat  down  on  a  block  of  wood,  and 
began  to  cry.  Says  I,  "  young  woman,  there  is  no  use 
to  sitwhinging  there  ;  if  the  captain  comes  on  board  he 
will  start  you  on  shore;  you  better  call  a  porter,  pack 
up  your  movables,  and  go  to  your  friends — if  they  know 
nothing  of  the  matter,  you  may  keep  your  own  secret; 
but  take  care  you  don't  get  in  such  another  scrape,  as 
perhaps  you  wont  get  out  so  easy."  It  was  no  sooner 
said  than  done  :  in  came  the  porter — away  went  kegs, 
bags  and  baggage  ;  and  away  went  she — we  saw  no 
more  of  them. 

We  now  commenced  squeezing  down  the  Thames 
amongst  a  thicket  of  ships,  brigs,  and  craft  of  all  de- 
scriptions ;  so  close  were  they  stowed  for  the  space  of 
six  miles,  it  was  just  like  hauling  out  of  a  wharf.  We 
made  Portsmouth  on  the  llth,  at  6  o'clock  P.M.  Here 
and  at  Cowes  lay  some  hundreds  of  vessels  waiting  a 
wind.  Some  of  them  had  been  wind-bound  for  a 
month.  But  now  the  wind  (which  had  been  blowing 
from  the  west  for  nearly  five  months)  came  out  from 
the  east,  (in  accordance  with  our  most  sanguine  wishes.) 
Now  the  cheering  sound"  out  studding-sails"  resounded 
from  the  deck.  The  breeze  freshens,  and  away  we 
shoot  at  the  rate  of  ten  knots  an  hour.  We  overhauled 
and  passed  everything  in  the  channel. amongst  them  a 
fine  East  Indiaman,  all  sails  set,  and  a  steamer  lashed  to 


176  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

each  of  her  sides  ;  yet,  notwithstanding  all  these  arti- 
ficial helps,  we  shoot  ahead,  and  leave  her  to  read 
"  Montreal  of  New  York"  on  our  stern. 

12th.— Half  past  10  o'clock  P.  M.  All  have  turned 
in  excepting  the  watch.  I  sit  on  the  deck  wrapped  in 
my  cloak,  and  wrapped  in  my  thoughts,  watching  the 
swelling  of  the  sails  by  a  strong  east  wind,  and  thinking 
of  time  that  is  past.  I  am  just  entering  for  the  fifth 
time  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  It  is  five  months  and  three 
days  since  I  left  my  family  and  friends.  Goodness  and 
mercy  have  followed  me  hitherto  through  every  step  of 
my  journey.  I  have  received  the  kindest  attention 
from  friends  and  from  strangers — have  encountered  no 
accident,  nor  met  with  a  disappointment — have  lost 
nothing  by  the  way  save  only  one  pair  of  gloves*  and 
one  pocket  handkerchief ;  and  now  my  face  is  again 
homeward,  the  wind  is  fair,  and  every  appearance  of  a 
prosperous  voyage. 

A  few  days  before  leaving  London  I  was  in  company 

with  Sir  A B .     He  gave  me  a  box  of  his 

own  patent  pills  to  prevent  sea  sickness.  I  thought  of 
the  epetaph  which  a  Spaniard  directed  to  be  placed  on 
his  gravestone : — 

"  ]  was  well — took  physic,  and  died." 
So  the  pills  are  untouched  to  this  day. 


*  Something  may  be  learned  from  this  pair  of  gloves.  I  lost 
the  glove  belonging  to  the  left  hand.  I  then  bought  another  pair 
of  the  same  colour  and  quality.  In  about  ten  days  thereafter  I 
lost  the  glove  belonging  to  the  right  hand  ;  so  by  saving  the  odd 
glove,  and  purchasing  the  next  pair  of  the  same  color  and  quality, 
I  still  had  a  complete  pair  left.  Many  a  pair  of  gloves  might  be 
thus  matched  and  saved,  if  people  only  thought  of  saving  the  odd 
one«,  and  comparing  colours. 


-"• 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  177 

From  the  12th  to  the  25th  fair  winds  and  fine 
weather.  On  that  day  it  blew  a  gale — hatches  button- 
ed down,  dead  lights,  deck  lights,  and  all  light  shut  out 
and  shut  up,  the  winds  and  the  sea  roaring,  the  waves 
breaking  over  the  ship,  noise  of  men  and  officers  on 
deck,  women's  hearts,  and  men's  too,  failing  them  be- 
cause of  fear.  At  7  o'clock  P.  M.,  He  who  holds  the 
winds  in  his  fist  and  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand,  SPOKE:— 

"  The  storm  was  changed  into  a  calm 

At  his  command  and  will ; 
So  that  the  waves  which  raged  before 

Now  quiet  are  and  still." 

At  the  height  of  the  gale,  a  cask  on  deck  broke  from 
its  lashings,  rolled  over  one  of  the  seamen  and  broke 
his  leg.  It  was  well  we  had  two  surgeons  among  our 
passengers.*  This  gale  was  altogether  a  grand  and 
terrific  scene,  and  showed  how  impotent  is  man. 

Nothing  remarkable  till  April  5th,  when,  at  10  A.  M., 
we  saw  land.  We  were  now  24  days  out,  and  would 
have  got  in  that  afternoon,  but  had  overreached  our 
port  to  the  south.  We  beat  back  against  a  strong  N. 
E.  wind,  which  took  us  two  days  to  accomplish;  so  on 
the  7th,  at  sundown,  we  anchored  within  the  narrows. 
Thus  completing  a  pleasant  passage  of  26  days  from 
land  to  anchor. 

It  is  at  such  a  moment  as  this — the  anchor  drops,  the 
sails  are  furled,  the  ship's  at  rest ;  the  passengers  are 
gazing  and  straining  their  eye-balls  to  learn  something 


The  man  had  every  attention  and  soon  got  well. 


178  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

of  the  soil  that  from  henceforward  is  to  give  them  sup- 
port. You  stand  on  the  windlass.  Your  home  is  in 
view.  In  fancy  you  see  the  very  roof  that  covers  all 
you  hold  most  dear  on  earth.  I  say  it  is  at  such  a 
moment  as  this  you  would  give  the  universe  to  know 
that  all  is  well. 

You  hear  nothing.  You  see  nothing  on  the  right 
hand  or  the  left.  Your  eye  is  fixed  on  the  object  ahead; 
and  your  conversation  is  within.  It  is  nine  weeks 
since  the  date  of  my  last  letter.  Are  they  alive?  May 
not  their  habitation  be  a  heap  of  ruins  ?  &c.  Then  busy 
meddling  fancy  raises  for  herself  phantoms  most  hor- 
rible. Your  throat  is  dry.  Your  tongue  is  parched. 
Your  words  are  only  half  uttered.  This  feeling  of 
suspense,  for  the  hour  before  meeting  is  more  intensely 
keen  than  is  the  day  of  parting,  and  all  the  long  months 
of  separation. 

However,  in  half  an  hour  after  coming  to  anchor,  an 
acquaintance  of  my  family  came  on  board,  and  set  my 
unworthy  doubts  at  rest.  He  knew  them  all,  and  all 
were  well. 

His  business  was  with  the  captain.  So  I  lit  my  pipe 
and  walked  on  deck,  repeating  in  my  mind  the  one 
hundred  and  third  Psalm.  It  calmed  the  multitude  of 
my  thoughts  within  me. 


CONCLUSION. 

IN  travelling  from  port  to  town,  and  from  town  to 
village ;  from  hall  to  rooms,  and  from  rooms  to  cellars, 
the  only  object  of  sincere  observation  I  think  is  man. 
To  learn  what  is  man,  this  strange  contradictive,  in- 
consistent being  man.  Could  you  congregate  the  mil- 
lions that  inhabit  this  globe,  so  sure  as  you  would  not 
find  two  faces  exactly  to  correspond,  so  sure  would 
you  not  find  two  men  whose  views,  aims,  and  ends 
were  exactly  the  same  on  any  subject ;  and  yet  we  are 
continually  persecuting  our  neighbours  with  our  sword, 
our  tongue,  or  our  pen,  because  he  cannot  see  as  we 
see,  into  the  same  subject.  I  have  visited  the  hall's  of 
the  noble,  and  the  cellars  of  the  simple.  I  have  dined 
in  the  parlour  with  the  great,  and  in  Billingsgate  lunch 
among  fish-women.  On  the  sea,  in  the  ship  ;  on  the 
land,  in  the  carriage.  I  find  them  all  the  same  incom- 
prehensible mortals — thinking  one  thing  and  speaking 
another — professing  one  thing  and  practising  another. 
On  the  continent,  nearly  one  half  of  the  population  is 
composed  of  soldiers,  priests,  monks,  friars,  Jesuits 
and  beggars.  In  England  they  have  noblemen  and 
gentlemen  in  abundance — bishops,  curates,  rectors  and 
deans,  soldiers  and  parish  paupers ;  in  fact  the  poor 


180  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

laws  have  turned  every  parish  into  a  sort  of  publie  alms- 
house.  In  Scotland  they  have  bishops,  curates,  &c. ; 
but  then  they  stand  on  their  own  foundation.  They 
are  the  same  there  as  other  dissenters  ;  the  people  are 
not  compelled  to  pay  them,  neither  have  they  any  poor 
rates  ;  those  who  are  sick  or  destitute,  are  supported 
in  alms-houses  ;  those  who  are  lazy,  are  shut  up  in 
correction  houses  and  compelled  to  work.  In  Ireland 
they  are  oppressed  with  priests,  poverty,  ignorance, 
and  tithes. 

With  regard  to  governments,  those  arbitrary  mon- 
archs  who  dispose  of  men's  lives,  persons,  and  property 
at  their  pleasure — they  are  contrary  to  reason,  religion, 
or  common  sense ;  and  such  are  most  of  those  on  the 
continent.  But  the  government  of  Britain,  were  it  free 
from  the  shackles  and  burthens  of  the  church,  is  in 
many  respects  better  than  our  own ;  at  least  I  have  a 
right  to  think  so,  in  this  country  of  free  thinking  and 
free  speaking.  In  Britain,  the  lives,  persons,  and  pro- 
perty of  men  are  as  well  protected  by  law  as  they  are  in 
this  country  ;  and  probably  property  is  better  protect- 
ed— for  there  property,  to  a  certain  extent,  is  repre- 
sented— here  it  is  not.  Here  the  votes  of  the  pauper 
puts  the  men  into  office,  who  tax,  assess,  cut  up  and 
divide  your  property,  while  they  have  nothing  to  tax 
and  nothing  to  pay.  This  may  be  law,  but  it  is  not 
equity.  In  Britain  they  have  a  new  king  made  to  their 
hand  every  twenty,  thirty,  or  fifty  years,  (George  III. 
reigned  fifty,)  but  in  America  we  have  a  new  king  to 
make  every  four  years.  To  be  sure  the  salary  of  the 
British  king  is  very  great — greater,  perhaps,  than  all 
the  officers  of  our  civil  government  put  together  ;  but 
then  the  trouble  and  expense  of  making  our  kings  so 
frequently,  more  than  counterbalances  to  the  country 
all  the  expense  of  the  British  kings. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  181 

In  this  country,  as  soori  as  we  have  one  king  placed 
on  the  throne  (knowing  his  reign  will  be  short)  we 
commence  making  a  new  one  immediately.  Then 
all  the  electoral  colleges,  from  east  to  west,  from 
north  to  south,  are  put  in  motion — meetings  every 
week,  in  some  places  every  night,  in  every  town, 
village,  hamlet,  district,  city,  and  ward  on  the  con- 
tinent. One  million  of  men,  at  the  least  calculation, 
are  employed  three  hours  every  night  in  the  year, 
(Sabbath  not  excepted  by  many,)  some  making  tickets, 
some  forging  lies,  some  making  speeches,  and  some 
forging  slander,  and  many,  very  many,  getting  drunk. 
Now  only  think  of  this,  one  million  of  men  three  hours 
per  night.  One  man's  time  is  worth  twelve  and  a  half 
cents  per  hour.  Now  calculate  this,  and  you  will  find 
that  our  king  costs  a  vast  deal  more  expense  to  us  than 
the  king  of  England  costs  his  people.  But  this  is 
not  all ;  this  is  only  the  beginning  of  trouble — for  all 
the  lies,  slanders,  speeches,  tickets,  handbills,  and 
showbills  are  yet  to  be  printed.  New  newspapers  are 
set  up  by  each  party — the  printer  must  be  paid,  the 
editor  must  be  paid,  the  bill-sticker  must  be  paid, 
and  there  too  is  the  tavern-keeper,  he  must  be  paid — 
and  his  is  a  heavy  bill,  because  each  party  hire  men 
and  give  them  money  to  fill  others  drunk,  provided 
they  will  vote  for  their  ticket ;  and  even  members  of 
temperance  societies  will  give  money  to  buy  drink  for 
others,  (though  they  may  not  drink  themselves,) — for 
in  election  week,  men  think  they  may  do  what  they 
please,  and  say  what  they  please.  Now  see  what  a 
vast  amount  of  time  and  money  ia  here  lost.  I  have 
known  one  <;entleman  subscribe  $500  for  his  own  hand 
to  support  the  election  of  his  party.  Were  we  able  to 
ascertain  all  those  sums  of  money  spent  at  elections,  I 

16 


182  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

do  think  we  would  find  that  a  new  president  costs  as 
much  as  a  new  king;  besides  there  is  the  unhappy 
spirit  of  contention  which  never  stops,  and  every  year 
seems  to  grow  hotter — families  are  divided,  brethren 
are  separated — towns,  cities  and  villages  are  divided 
against  themselves.  If  our  next  door  neighbour  refuses 
to  think  as  we  think,  we  will  not  hire  his  cart,  .we  will 
not  buy  his  boots  or  his  shoes,  his  bread  or  his  beer,  his 
soap  or  his  candles  ;  in  short,  we  would  starve  him  to 
death  because  he  differs  from  us  in  opinion  ;  and  this  is 
what  we  call  supporting  the  freedom  of  speech  and 
liberty  of  thinking. 

In  some  parts  of  Europe,  when  they  read  our  jour- 
nals, and  see  them  filled  the  year  round  with  election 
meetings,  they  think  we  do  little  else  in  America  but 
make  kings,  priests,  and  presidents. 


APPENDIX. 

A  WORD  to  the  critic  arid  I  have  done.  I  hold  them 
all  (as  WASHINGTON  told  the  democrats)  as  a  set  of 
self-created  blockheads,*  meddling  with  other  people's 


*  I  think  it  was  in  1794,  in  his  opening  speech  to  Congress 
that  WASHINGTON,  speaking  of  the  whiskey  mobs  and  unsettled 
state  of  the  country,  assigned  as  a  cause  the  formation  of  Tamma- 
ny and  Democratic  Societies.  Recalled  them  self-created  societies. 
The  bucktails  never  got  over  this.  (The  wigwam  in  those  days 
was  kept  by  Martling,  on  the  spot  where  the  Tract  Society  house 
now  stands.)  Runners  were  sent  out ;  the  council  fires  were 
lighted  that  same  night;  citizen  Mooney  was  Grand  Sachem; 
long  talks  were  made,  and  Washington  denounced.  One  imported 
patriot,  just  six  months  from  Donnochadce,  in  his  republican 
wrath,  styled  WASHINGTON  a  hoary  headed  traitor!  Yes,  gentle- 
men, these  ears  of  mine  heard  this.  There  were  some  hundreds  of 
Americans  in  the  room.  I  wondered  they  did  not  pull  the  potatoe 
head  from  his  shoulders.  But  foreigners  then,  as  well  as  nowr, 
ruled  the  country.  There  was  citizen  Genet,  the  sans  culotte 
ambassador,  appealing  from  the  American  government  to  the 
mobiles.  This  man,  supported  by  American  and 
patriot?,  was  trying  to  jerk  the  reigns  from  the  hands  of 
but  lately  reigned  in  his  stately  stead  to  receive  the  sword  of 
Cornicallis. 

WASHINGTON  had  hard  work  with  the  democrats  in  those  days. 


J84  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

affairs,  and  forgetting  their  own.  If  the  public  are 
fools  enough  to  buy  books  full  of  nonsense,  why  that's 
no  concern  of  theirs.  My  book  and  myself  got  a 
terrible  shaking  from  these  fellows  in  London  last  year. 
Some  of  them  said  I  spoke  about  Providence,  as  if  there 
was  not  another  being  in  the  world  worthy  of  his  notice 
bin  myself;  and  seemed  to  insinuate  that  I,  being  so 
insignificant,  was  hardly  worth  his  looking  at,  &c.  I 
cared  not  the  turning  of  a  straw  what  they  said.  I 
know  there  are  millions  of  brings  in  the  universe  more 
small  and  despised  than  myself,  and  yet  they  are  the 
objects  of  his  special  care.  Some  were  highly  offended 
because  I  drew  a  comparison  between  the  British  and 
American  ships  of  war  favourable  to  the  latter.  Others 
said  I  was  a  stiff  bigoted  Scotch  presbyterian  covenan- 
ter. I  plead  guilty  to  the  first  charge — but  I  never 
was  a  covenanter. 

Just  for  amusement  I  went  to  see  one  of  these  chaps, 
I  know  they  write  not  from  ill  will,  but  to  fill  up  their 
magazines  and  reviews.  He  was  a  good-natured  sensible 
mortal.  We  spent  an  agreeable  hour ;  but  the  best  of 
the  story  was,  he  could  not  define  the  meaning  of 
covenanter.  I  told  him  he  was  just  about  as  wise  as 
some  of  the  troopers  in  the  regiment  of  Claverhouse, 


No  other  man  could  have  kept  them  in  order.  He  had  Hamilton, 
Jay,  and  all  the  revolutionary  worthies,  with  Truth  on  his  side  ; 
so  he  stood  his  ground.  When  Jefferson  came  in,  and  with  him 
all  the  friends  of  the  people,  times  were  altered.  They  sold  our 
Itttlcyiavy  for  the  price  of  the  anchors,  by  the  way  of  protecting 
our  <Kde  and  coast.  So  they  have  kept  the  pot  boiling  their  own 
way  ever  since;  and  as  a  majority  of  the  sovereign  people  desire 
to  have  it  so,  why  it  is  none  of  my  business. 


THORBURN'S  JOURNAL.  185 

of  which  you  have  read  in  Scott's  history  of  Old  Mor- 
tality. One  day  two  of  them  were  sent  out  to  scour 
the  hills  in  search  of  whigs;  they  fell  in  with  a  poor 
shepherd,  tending  his  flocks  by  the  side  of  a  brook,  and 
reading  his  Bible.  He  was  so  intent  on  the  subject, 
that  they  were  on  him  before  he  had  time  to  slip  the 
book  under  his  plaid.  (You'will  observe  it  was  part 
of  their  orders  to  arrest  every  one  where  they  found  a 
Bible  in  the  house.)  "  What  book  have  you  got  there  ?" 
says  one  of  them.  "  The  Divine  Oracles,"  says  the 
shepherd.  "  Divine  Oracles,"  says  the  trooper,  looking 
in  the  face  of  his  fellow.  "  Do  you  know  the  book  ?" 
"  Never  heard  of  such  a  book,  (in  those  days,  perhaps, 
not  a  man  in  the  regiment  could  read,)  says  the  second 
trooper.  "What  does  it  tell  about?"  says  the  first 
trooper.  "  Oh,"  says  the  shepherd, "  that's  muckle  ma'er 
(much  more)  than  I  can  tell  ye  ;  but  there  is  ye'a  lang 
(one  long)  story  in't,  aboot  king  Pharah,  and  Joseph 
and  his  brethren."  "  D n  Joseph,"  says  the  troop- 
er; "Is  there  any  thing  about  the  covenants  in  it?" — 
"  Oh  yes,"  says  the  shepherd.  "  there's  some  bits  o' 
stories  aboot  the  covenant  o'  warks,  an'  the  covenant  o' 

grace."    "  D n  your  grace !"  says  the  trooper,  fget- 

ting  tired.)  "  Do  you  renounce  the  covenant  ?"  (This 
was  the  test.)  "  Whilk  o'  them  do  you  mean  ?"  says 
the  shepherd.  The  trooper  again  applied  to  his  felloe- 
He  could  not  tell.  "  Any  one  which  you  like,"  says 
they.  "  I  renounce  the  covenant  o'  warks,  an'  a  de- 
pendence ont'  from  this  day  and  for  ever,"  says  the 

shepherd.     "  A  true  tory,  by  G ,"  says  'they,  and 

rode  off.  My  friend  of  the  review  laughed  well  at  the 
ignorance  of  himself  and  countrymen.  We  adjourned 
to,  not  a  tavern  to  drink  wine,  but  to  his  house  in 
Parliament-street,  where  we  drank  tea,  and  spent  an 


186  THORBURN'S  JOURNAL. 

agreeable  evening  with  the  family.  He  accompanied 
me  to  my  lodgings.  On  the  way,  going  through  the 
crowd,  side  by  side  when,  we  could,  or  Indian  file 
as  we  might,  a  young  man  in  a  hurry  pushed  me 
against  a  dandy.  He  turned  and  cursed  me  for  a 

Quaker  son  of  a  b h.  I  thought  my  coat  had 

saved  my  hide,  as  Franklin's  spectacles  saved  his 
eyes. 

By  the  by,  I  was  told  that  those  reviewers  are 
often  hired  by  the  same  publisher,  one  to  write  up 
and  another  to  write  down  their  books.  By  this 
means  the  public  begin  to  wonder,  and  are  anxious 
to  see  what  sort  of  book  it  is,  and  so  they  sell. 

I  have  no  doubt  but  it  is  true,  for  in  London  they 
resort  to  every  sort  of  device  to  draw  attention.  One 
day  a  man,  standing  at  the  corner  of  a  street,  put  into 
my  hand  a  card  headed 


DON'T  BELIEVE  IT," 


James  Lancaster  has  not  removed  from  No.  223  Strand, 
but  continues  to  serve  out  to  his  customers,  &c.  &c. — 
Many  have  on  their  sign  boards,  under  their  name,  the 
number  of  years  they  have  done  business  in  that  house : 
as  John  Thomas,  Wine  Dealer,  since  1794.  Thus 
signifying  that  he  is  a  man  of  steady  habits  to  reside 
and  do  business  in  the  same  house  for  forty  years.  I 
saw  some  stating  that  father  and  sons  had  done 
business  on  the  same  spot  for  one  hundred  years  and 
upwards.  In  Paternoster  Row,  I  was  in  a  book  es- 
tablishment where  the  same  firm  had  existed  for  two 
centuries  and  more. 


THORBCRN'S  JOURNAL.  187 

In  New-York  we  get  through  our  business  with 
more  expedition.  As  far  as  I  can  recollect,  there  is 
only  one  house  in  existence  that  done  business  in  the 
city  when  I  first  saw  it  forty  years  ago. 


FINIS. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


manners 
86A  h     in  Britain 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


Unive 
Soi 
L 


